Genesis
by ArcturusWolf
Summary: October 23, 2077. A date that would live forever in infamy as the day that man purged the planet of modern civilisation in nuclear fire. A prophecy is made that from the ashes, life shall rise anew. Yet the annihilation of order has warped everything that remains. Will the dreams of the past live on, or will a twisted nightmare be all that returns?
1. Dawn of the Apocalypse

_War. War never changes._

 _On August 6, 1945, a terrible new weapon was deployed for the first time against living, breathing humans. Incalculable amounts of energy were released in a single devastating blast, creating a searing inferno that scorched an entire city to the black, barren earth beneath. Thousands perished in an instant; the only memories of their existence, their shadows burned into the concrete, white as the bones of those long dead. Perhaps it was a gentle mercy that they died so quickly, for those that survived soon learned about the invisible poison that would plague them until their dying breath._

 _The destruction wrought upon the city of Hiroshima brought horror – and a morbid fascination – to all those who witnessed the power of the atomic bomb through film, photograph or memoir. The images of the once-bustling metropolis, reduced to piles of concrete as white as the bones of its dead, became indisputable proof of its might. Photographs of the mountains of charred and blackened corpses, irrefutable proof of its lethality. Every great power in the world could no longer ignore this message; that through the division and annihilation of the most insignificant parts of the universe, there exists a weapon that could bring entire nations to their knees at the push of a button._

 _A weapon of terror. A weapon of destruction. A weapon of annihilation._

 _Those that had created it believed that it was still possible to redeem it. To turn a force of annihilation to a force of creation. To harness the nearly-limitless energy of the sundered atom for the good of all mankind. Nuclear fission power plants emerged all throughout the known world, supplying colossal amounts of electricity to a power-hungry planet. Hundreds upon thousands of households, once dark and cold, were now lit with man-made light and kept warm by coils of heated copper._

 _Limitless power. Limitless possibilities. Limitless potential._

 _Mankind rejoiced in nuclear fission. The division of the atom brought about the unification of humanity. A common purpose, a common goal to which all could aspire to; to indulge and glory in the age of peace and prosperity that followed the terrible war. Devices once thought to exist only in the realm of fiction – personal robotic butlers, gardeners, security officers, hover cars, boats, handheld energy weapons – all came into being within several decades. The common housewife no longer needed to cook nor clean with a robotic butler; the common working man no longer needed to fear for the safety of his household with a robotic guard. All could travel in absolute comfort with the latest in hover-vehicles. All of them powered by the wondrous process of nuclear fission._

 _Unlimited prosperity. Unlimited wealth. Unlimited comfort._

 _All good things, however, must come to an end. Nuclear fission, as potent and ubiquitous as it was, could not provide for everything. Fossil fuels powered smaller devices that could not contain a nuclear reactor, owing to their size or weight. Mineral oil-based coolants were still required for a great many things. The dwindling supplies of fossil fuels raised alarm among the more learned of the world's citizens. Yet the warnings of the wise few were drowned by the outcry of the many, who were intoxicated to obliviousness by the many creature comforts that they had taken for granted._

 _Unending peace. Unending prosperity. Unending unity._

 _It was all an illusion. The prices of non-nuclear fuels rose to unprecedented new heights, as the world's reserves of fossil fuels finally ran dry. One by one, the prices of common commodities soared to unreasonable levels. Like addicts in withdrawal, humanity's masses suddenly found themselves enraged by the perceived deprivation of their supposed God-given right to every item ever produced by mankind. Riots raged in Portsmouth when local petrol stations could no longer supply petrol below a thousand pounds a litre. Protesters marched throughout the streets of Liverpool when their beloved Mr. Handy units could no longer be refuelled. Martial law was enacted throughout Great Britain, and military force was used to quell dissent when protesters would not peacefully disperse. More often than not, blood was spilled in the streets as increasing amounts of force was used to scatter increasingly displeased citizens._

 _April 2052. Public fury at rising prices of commodities could no longer be ignored by the governments of Europe. Citing the unfair rates that were being charged by the oil-rich states of the Middle East, the first of the many Resource Wars was declared by the European Commonwealth. An invasion of Saudi Arabia was soon launched, with millions dead on both sides. Arab nations rallied to the banner of the Saudis, seeing it as yet another encroachment of Western imperialism. The United Nations, powerless to find a diplomatic solution to their grievances, disbands as member nations depart one by one. The illusion of prosperity and of peace, of possibilities and potential, finally shattered to reveal the bleak reality of a planet unable to provide for its myriad children._

 _Brother fought against brother. Sister slew sister. Cousin feuded against cousin._

 _It was in this environment that one Amanda Rosalind Flynn, a prodigy among geneticists, found her calling. British scientists of the European Commonwealth, on hearing of the United States of America's research into producing supersoldiers, pressed her into service in order to produce their own. With a virtually limitless budget and the best hand-picked personnel that she could ever have, she took to the task like a fish to water. A deep underground facility – a Vault – was constructed for her use, deep beneath the tunnels of outer London. Dubbed Vault M-3, it was here that she conducted her greatest research. Her magnum opus; her crowning glory; her life's greatest achievement._

 _The refinement of life itself. Judging the Forced Evolutionary Virus as both too hazardous and too uncontrollable to be useful, she had decided to forge a new genetic template for humanity. Using her own egg cells and the sperm of an apparently untraceable donor in her team, she started her work in creating a new human capable of surviving the new, inhospitable world that they lived in. The genome of the embryos were purged of all hereditary diseases. Their muscle structure was optimised and made far stronger; their bones encoded to grow into organic ultrahard ceramo-metal structures capable of withstanding forces that would shatter ordinary bones to dust._

 _Had she more time, perhaps more could have been done; but under pressure from the military to push the schedule of her deliveries forward, she swept aside the hundreds of failed embryos into the facility's incinerator and began work on the first three complete prototypes. Her true daughters._

 _On July 31, 2063, her ten-year research project had finally borne fruit. Her three daughters – X-1, X-2 and X-3 – were lifted out of their biogel tanks. Weighing an astounding forty pounds each, the babies were christened Aveline, Orianna and Zoe by their mother. By the time they reached eleven, each of them had to wear steel-based boots to withstand their two hundred pound masses. Physical examinations by army physicians revealed that the girls had well and truly exceeded expectations. They could effortlessly lift weights heavier than a fully-grown adult, run for longer and recover from injuries far more quickly than they should. Only a slight issue remained; they were unable to swim or cross rivers, thanks to their density causing them to sink like lead bricks without the aid of flotation balloons.  
_

 _Needless to say, the generals of the army were very pleased. Their inability to deal with water was an issue, but that was something that could be ignored as long as they were stationed well away from naval affairs.  
_

 _In exchange for starting the process for thousands more of their clones, Amanda had been given custody of her initial three children and their exemption from mandatory military service, as was initially planned. Vault M-13 had been constructed with her specifications to provide a way for the military to generate an endless stream of supersoldiers for the British military. Consisting of tens of thousands of cloning tanks and numerous biogel synthesisers, it was a colossal facility that would ensure British tactical superiority in the years to come. Yet even she, as the person who specified its requirements, had been kept in the dark about where it was built. Evidence of Russian and Chinese spies infiltrating the British isles were becoming quite common as the Resource Wars heated up throughout the world, and security had become a prime concern among her superiors._

 _A year passed. Two years. Five years. Ten years. Eleven years. And still Amanda had not been called to start up the cloning tanks. She and her partner of twenty-five years, Lucille Isabelle Laurent, had lived quietly in Surrey while watching over their daughters. Vault M-3, though officially still a government-owned facility, had essentially become their own. The staff had been reduced to a skeleton crew, and many of the scientists had been removed to other facilities. In fact, there were often times that the vault was sealed with nobody inside, as the maintenance crew were moved to other locations. For this reason, both women had acquired their own Pip-Boy wrist computers from the Army quartermasters, in order to be able to open and seal the vault._

 _Imagine Amanda's surprise that when she rechecked Vault M-3's master records on her daughters' eleventh birthday that the sperm donor that she had used to create her three children had, in fact, not existed at all. There was no record of him – one Phineas Black – anywhere on the computer. Not on the daily roll-call records. Not on the leaving and entering log books. And definitely not on the list of scientists that she had requested to work under her._

 _Yet the fact of the matter remained that unless she had been hallucinating for the past twenty or so years, the sperm donor must have existed for Aveline, Orianna and Zoe to be born at all. One did not simply create life from nothing, after all. The more she thought about it, the more she thought something was horribly amiss; until her doorbell finally rang in the morning and a person gave her all the answers._

 _It was magic._

 _Honest-to-God magic._

 _If there was ever proof of it, it was in the self-proclaimed Professor McGonagall's deeds that day. Taking her, her partner, and her children to Charing Cross – halfway across London – in an instant, using something that could only be described as teleportation. Conjuring flowers from the tip of a fancy wooden stick, creating a living, breathing bird from nothing – it had all but shattered her perception that magic was an idle fantasy crafted by charlatans. With her daughters apparently possessing the same gift for magic, being genetic daughters of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. And she, as the de facto mother of Phineas Black's children, stood to inherit what was left in his vault in a magical bank._

 _Which happened to contain a small, cracked stone which exuded a liquid medicine that was nothing short of miraculous. A medicine which reversed aging, though very limited in quantity; the stone produced barely enough for a single person to maintain their youth. There was also small pile of gold within, which was just barely sufficient to pay for her daughters' tuition and equipment – and a sphere containing a most vivid vision of a seer's premonitions._

 _A vision of fire and brimstone. Of judgement delivered in searing flame and blinding light. Of an impartial executioner, divisible yet indivisible, invisible yet tangible. Of salvation in the shadows of a subterranean shelter while hellfire devoured all above. And of rebirth; the first sprouts of green emerging from the black ashes of the past.  
_

 _Disturbed by the vivid images that she had seen, the geneticist wondered about her role in all this. Phineas had abstained from consuming the de-aging medicine in order to provide her and her partner with enough of it to last for some time. His final words suggested that she was to be some sort of leader in the dark age to come. Leading a team of scientists? That, she could do. Leading the rebirth of a nation, no matter how small? That was a truly daunting task, to say the least. But if Phineas had willingly sacrificed himself to give her a chance to do this, who was she to let such a sacrifice go to waste?_

 _October 23, 2077. Four years had passed since the day she had discovered the prophecy. Four years since she had discovered the existence of a hidden society of magic-users, which her daughters were now part of._

 _The war in the Middle East had concluded with the European Commonwealth's victory over the Union of Arab States. Victory that was as bitter as the black, radioactive ash that now covered the deserts of Arabia. The Chancellor of the European Commonwealth had promised that oil shall flow once the Arabs had been defeated; yet in their hour of triumph, the nuclear exchange that ended the war had also decimated the oilfields and rendered them too irradiated to exploit. Not a single drop of black gold came of the millions of lives that had perished during the war._

 _Tensions ran high within the Commonwealth; France demanded reparations from Germany, which had blamed British incompetence in their apparent failure to capture the coveted oilfields. Spain and Italy outright revoked their own memberships of the union, citing their extreme displeasure with the state of affairs. Heated words were exchanged almost on a daily basis, with the looming threat of a catastrophic nuclear exchange apparent..._

* * *

Trying to get her mind off the madness of the world's current state, Amanda walked down into the kitchen. She massaged her forehead through her messy copper locks, trying her best to suppress a pounding headache. It didn't help that the radio in the kitchen was warbling out some off-key tune from some ungodly street band that was popular; not that she knew them by name, of course. Music was simply a frivolous waste of time to her.

A pair of gentle arms wrapped around her waist from behind and she felt a gentle kiss on the nape of her neck. "Ma cherie, what seems to be ze matter?" purred Lucille, her partner of twenty-nine years.

Amanda slowly turned about to face her, giving her an appreciative peck on the cheek. Her partner of twenty-nine years had aged rather well, people would say; though they both knew it was mostly due to the miraculous elixir that had been gifted to them by Phineas Black that both of them had been spared the ravages of time. Her chocolate hair tumbled past her shoulders in gentle waves, framing a somewhat rounded face that was flecked by faint freckles. Her blue eyes sparkled with compassion as her fingers gently rubbed circles on the scientist's arm.

"Come now, you shouldn't frown so often. Is it ze news again?"

"Yes," sighed Amanda. "The war on the continent has gotten worse. French soldiers are marching on Berlin, just as British soldiers are marching on Paris. I fear things will only get worse from here,"

"Such doom and gloom. Where was ze confident and unshakable woman zat I fell in love with all zose years ago?" Lucille teased. She pulled back and walked over to the kitchen, putting a kettle on the stove. "Mon amour, do try to appear more cheerful. Ze children are still 'ere, as you 'ave asked of ze 'Igh Command. Zeir friends are also 'ere, and enjoying zemselves. It would not do to frighten zem with such a dark expression on your face, non?"

"I suppose so. A little bit of normalcy in these troubled times is better than nothing,"

A peal of raucous laughter came from the living room, and a slender blonde in an elegant silk robe burst out of it. A veritable storm of snowballs flew at her as she ducked for cover behind the kitchen counter, hands shielding her head as best she could as the icy projectiles rained down about her. On seeing Amanda and Lucille, her heart-shaped face bore the most piteous pleading expression that either of them had ever seen.

"Please, Miss Flynn – could you ask Zoe to stop pelting snowballs inside the house? It is utterly irresponsible and _dangerous_ to do so," she asked. Her emerald-green eyes watered slightly as a tightly-packed snowball smacked her in the back of the head and burst into a white puff of snow. "Ow!"

"Of course, Daphne. And I have informed you that you may call me Amanda," she replied. "Zoe! You will cease that immediately, or you will clean the toilets for a month. Without magic,"

"Oh, come on, mum. It's only in good fun," complained Zoe as she poked her head out of the living room. Seeing her mother's narrowed eyes, however, she quickly snapped off a mock salute. "Fine, fine, geez, mother-in-chief, I'll stop throwing magic snowballs around,"

"See to it that you do, Zoe. And do be a bit more respectful. Goodness knows that you could learn a thing or two from your friend Daphne. Or Orianna,"

The red-haired girl rolled her eyes and popped back into the living room. Daphne smiled and nodded gratefully; she waved her wand and vanished the bits of snow that clung to her hair and robes, and with another smooth movement had them all dried out. "It never ceases to amaze me how convenient it is to do things like that with magic," said Amanda, chuckling quietly to herself. "That which we cannot do or understand looks remarkable, even if to another it may seem ordinary. How did you find your first night in a non-magical home, Daphne? I hope that you were able to sleep soundly,"

The blonde flushed slightly at some unknown memory and blanked out for a few seconds, but nodded fervently once she realised that her host was still waiting for an answer. Her green eyes shone with happiness. "It was certainly much better than I thought, Miss Flynn. The bed was far more comfortable than anything I've ever slept on in the magical world, and I find it incredible that Mug-sorry, non-magical people could record sound and moving pictures without the help of magic. Your cooking was wonderful as well,"

"My cooking?" Amanda smirked, "No, it's probably best that you did _not_ have my cooking. I think the last time that Lucille was sick and unable to cook, none of us had anything other than reheated pork and beans. I believe Zoe's charming description was that my cooking was 'more poisonous than a whole box of Abraxo cleaner'. You were likely thinking of my wonderful partner's signature braised beef stew,"

"Oui. And it is truly flattering to think that you appreciate my cooking, Daphne. Would you like to sit down and have some warm chocolate milk?"

"I would love that, thank you," she replied, taking a seat on one of the barstools. Lucille poured each of them a steaming mug of the drink; the girl accepted hers gratefully. A couple of sips later, and Daphne was smiling as she savoured the delicious taste of _real_ chocolate – and not the artificial simulations that were oh-so-common in the supermarkets. Scarcely a minute later, and the last of the chocolate had all but disappeared.

"That is delicious. Thank you," Daphne sighed contentedly, setting down her now-empty mug. "If I might ask, Miss Flynn, I couldn't help but notice that you keep a dittany plant on the end of the kitchen table. That's a magical plant, isn't it?"

Amanda raised an eyebrow, but smiled. "A sharp eye you have. Yes, it is a dittany plant, purchased from Diagon Alley's...herbology store. Come to think of it, the lady that was serving at the counter looks much like you,"

"If it was from the _Greenmeadows Magical Shrubberies,_ that would be my mother. Wait, what use would you have for buying those?"

"Purely academic interest," Amanda replied cryptically. Judging by the girl's raised eyebrow, however, she did not believe that was the entire truth.

Perceptive, considering that most wizards simply didn't dig any deeper than appearances. In fact, it had been all too simple to masquerade as a witch in that Diagon Alley. A gaudy silver-trimmed robe with a hood to obscure her features, and not a single person even so much as questioned whether or not she was able to cast any magic.

"Hmm. If you say so,"

Before they could continue their discussion, however, the warbling on the radio suddenly cut out. A sharp buzz of static filled the air for a couple of seconds, before a slight cough came through.

"This is Jeremy Martin of Galaxy News Network. I...uh...reports have just come in from our news correspondents in San Fransisco. Bright flashes...and explosions..." the news reporter said shakily.

Amanda sat bolt upright and stared at the radio. "No. It can't be," she mouthed.

A few more moments of silence ensued before the reporter continued. "More information has just arrived. We have...we have confirmation from our colleagues in Washington. Confirmation of...of nuclear explosions. Oh god,"

A pregnant silence fell on the room as Amanda switched off the radio. Lucille had gone white, her hands trembling; Daphne looked completely nonplussed, not comprehending the danger that had just been mentioned. "ORIANNA! Get your sisters out of there, NOW!" Amanda shouted, "ZOE, AVELINE! Get your things! GO! NOW!"

"Amanda? What is happening?"

"What's happening, mum?"

"Mother-in-chief, what the hell's going on?"

Amanda laughed bitterly and held up her hand to silence the girls. "The Apocalypse. That is what it is,"

* * *

A/N:

Well, while playing Fallout 4, this idea came to me and stuck. I thought I might as well get it out while I'm idling and gathering inspiration for my other stories. This is a spinoff of my other story, _Synthesis_ , recycling characters and established characterisations. Dates have been shifted to match the canon timeline of Fallout's Great War as best as possible. Assuming that the nukes landed on the west coast of America at 9:42am, and the east coast by 9:47am, this would put the current time in Britain to be 2:47pm. What a barbaric way to end the world, destroying it just before tea time in London :C

Will the magical world survive the incoming nuclear firestorm? Find out in the next installment of Genesis!

-ArcturusWolf


	2. Subterranean Salvation

Pandemonium.

That was what Amanda could call the reaction to her words. Two of her three children, Daphne, Tracey and Hermione had begun to bicker and yell over each other for explanations. Not a single one maintained a cool head in the face of an impending crisis; and that, she could not abide.

It took her slamming her fist on the kitchen counter to silence the shouting match that ensued. "Are we done bickering?" she said icily, glaring at Zoe and Aveline, who both hung their heads. Orianna had stood quietly by, looking at her for orders. "Get your wands, your trunks, and what clothes you can pack in thirty seconds. Lucille, you will do the same with our things. Get the...package...out of the safe. We will need it,"

"What about you?"

Amanda glanced in the direction of her study. "I will try to contact HQ and see if there is anything heading in our direction – and if there is, how much time we have. Go!"

As each of them scattered throughout the house, Amanda dashed for her desk. Reaching under it, she yanked out a pair of Pip-Boy wrist computers from a cardboard box and slapped one onto her wrist. "Come on, come on," she muttered, watching the device go through its boot-up sequence. As soon as it had gone fully operational, she flicked its radio on and toggled it to her private communications channel. "There we go. HQ, come in. This is Raven-113; message, over,"

"HQ to Raven-113, confirm identity. Over,"

"Raven-113 to HQ, code alpha-omega-thirteen-epsilon. Over,"

"HQ to Raven-113, identity confirmed. State your request, over,"

"Raven-113 to HQ. Request long-range radar signal scan for high-altitude craft. Authorisation code, omega-epsilon-six-six-delta,"

"HQ to Raven-113, confirm command. Initiating scan, please hold,"

A few moments of silence followed. The voice that came after trembled with fear.

"Charlie-charlie, this is HQ. We have multiple inbound contacts, high altitude. All combat units, move to defensive fighting positions. All anti-aircraft and fighter units, scramble, scramble! Non-combat assets, make your way to designated safe zones. Estimated enemy flight objective is London; ETA is ten minutes. Over and out,"

Ten minutes. Amanda's eyes widened at the realisation of just how little time they had left to get to safety. She kicked open her desk's lower drawers and hefted out the box of medical items and a small box of pistol ammunition. Clutching her partner's Pip-Boy and cradling the rest of the things in her arms, she walked back out into the kitchen to find Orianna and Zoe hefting a stack of trunks down the stairs. Behind them were Aveline and her three friends, helping Lucille with several bags and packages.

"Alright, that's enough. We're going now," Amanda said curtly. "Follow me closely. We have only ten minutes before what I believe are nuclear weapons will hit London,"

"Nuclear weapons? In ten minutes?" Hermione cried in anguish. "But—that can't—that can't—what about my parents? Or Tracey's? Or Daphne's?"

"Unless they can get here in two minutes, we are all going to die. So unfortunate as it is to say, there is nothing we can do about them,"

"I call hippogriff shite to that!" Tracey yelled. Her eyes were ablaze with anger as she glared at Amanda, "Daphy, you've got a house-elf, right? Can't you get them to...you know, pop them here or something?"

"I am sure that our war wards will hold, Trace. There is nothing that the muggles could make that could harm us. I mean, Greengrass Estate had been under siege at least five times by muggles in the last three hundred years, and they have not succeeded in breaking through even once,"

Tracey's look of disbelief put some doubt in the blonde. "Daphy, you don't get it. These...these weapons—they don't just destroy a building or two. They blow up entire _cities_ ,"

"And an overpowered blasting curse can do the same,"

"Ugh. Look, do yourself a favour. Just get your parents out of there. Grab mine too, while your elves are at it,"

"Fine. Dipsy!" she called out. A bat-eared creature, diminutive and hunched in posture, appeared with a crack in front of her. It bowed deeply, before glancing questioningly into her eyes. "Fetch my parents. Inform them that it is an emergency, and that it would be best for them to come to me. And while you are at it, please get Mr. Davis and Mrs. Davis as well from the nearby house,"

"Dipsy will do as young mistress commands!" the house-elf squeaked, bowing again before disappearing with another loud crack.

"Wait, what about _my_ parents?" Hermione protested. "Why can't you send the house-elf to them?"

"I am truly sorry, Hermione, but the house-elves will obey my parents' orders over mine, since I am just Heiress Greengrass, not Lady Greengrass. They are on orders to not visit anyone that my parents have not authorised them to visit. My instructions would simply be ignored if I tried to order them to,"

"That's not right! You can do something – _anything_ – can't you?"

The blonde sadly shook her head. "No—no way. You're lying! You can get them, can't you? You have to be able to!"

"No. I cannot. I can't apparate, Hermione, and our broomsticks would take at least twenty minutes to get to St. Albans,"

"So...my parents..."

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I really am,"

"Come on, Hermione. We've got to go," Aveline whispered into her ear as soon as she saw Amanda moving the front door. When Hermione did not respond at all, she sighed and tapped her foot. "Mum will leave you here if you aren't going to follow us. We really don't have time,"

"It's just...it's just so unfair—Aveline, put me down!"

"Nope! If you're not going to walk, I'm not letting you just sit there, Hermione. You're coming with us,"

The sight of numerous people bursting out of the unassuming house of Number Three, Privet Drive, laden with luggage and appearing highly flustered drew curious glances from the nearby civilians. Doubly so when one of them was a girl who had another slung over her shoulder, protesting loudly all the while.

Perhaps they had not been listening to the radio broadcasts about the nuclear attacks on the major cities of the United States of America. Or perhaps they did not believe that what had happened over there would repeat itself in Britain. They did, after all, have just had a twenty-five year war against the Arabs, and only a few dozen nuclear weapons had been utilised. To them, it may have seemed completely outrageous an idea that any nation would attempt a full nuclear exchange capable of destroying an entire nation.

The hapless fools, she thought to herself as she led her group down towards the local park. She had heard from her university colleagues that worked in Washington that the Vault-Tec company had built numerous nuclear shelters throughout all of America, each one capable of protecting over a thousand citizens. England had invested in them too, in the form of heavily reinforced concrete bunkers deep beneath the city; but most were geared for the protection of military assets, not the protection of civilians. Even if the city's populace were issued a warning in time, there would be little that they could do aside from saying their last goodbyes. After all, an explosion in the hundreds of kilotons could scarcely be stopped by a simple brick wall or a wooden table over one's head.

"Down here," Amanda said, pointing at a rather ordinary-looking manhole in the middle of the park, just in front of a broken wooden bench. Orianna hefted the heavy steel manhole cover up, revealing a dark vertical tunnel with what looked like a tiny pinprick of light at the very bottom. A simple steel ladder ran down its side, apparently all the way down. "Throw in the luggage. There is a pile of mattresses at the bottom, they will not break. And Aveline, set Hermione down. If she will not come willingly, I will not have a potential liability where we are headed,"

A little cold, perhaps, given the look of indignant disbelief that the bushy-haired brunette gave her. But in times of crisis, sometimes one had to forgo sentiments to succeed.

* * *

Daphne was hardly a person that would turn her nose up at less-than-savoury smells. Despite her refined and cultured behaviour and appearance, it was drilled into the minds of every Greengrass that their wealth and status derived from the earth itself. Yes, _that_ kind of earth – that almost unbearably putrid mixture of well-moistened dragon dung, rotting bits of shredded puffapod and broken mooncalf nightsoil. _Pecunia non olet –_ 'money does not stink' – her family's ancestors had as a motto; and a successful one it was, if the contents of their vault in Gringotts were any indication. And after her three full years of education in Hogwarts, planting all manner of magical herbs and fungi in the Herbology greenhouses, she thought herself adept at resisting the gut-churning effects of noxious fumes.

Yet she could not help but gag at the most abhorrent stench that filled the dark tunnel that they had fallen into. Grabbing her wand, she gave it a quick flick and muttered, 'Lumos'. A narrow cone of light illuminated the vaulted concrete tunnel that they were in; smooth and featureless, seemingly going on and on as far as the eye could see. The musty old mattresses that they had all fallen on were in a small square side chamber, which had four blinking orange lights in little metal-and-glass cages, one in each corner.

"Ugh, I'm never going to be able to get that smell out of my hair," Zoe groaned. The copper-haired girl stumbled to her feet, awkwardly pulling bits of broken mattress spring out of her mottled camouflage pants. "Daphy, 'Mione, Trace – you girls okay?"

A chorus of 'yes'es followed her question. "Oh, good. I thought I might have landed on one of you girls by accident. Anyway, where are we going next, mother-in-chief?"

"I will need to get to Vault M-3's control centre to initiate lockdown before the nuclear bombs come down. That manhole cover will not do much to stop a nuclear blast if it happens to land too close by," replied Amanda. The curious metal-and-glass device on her wrist was emitting a sickly green glow that lit the way in front of her, though only barely further away than her arm's reach. "Pick up your things and follow me closely; and whatever you do, _do not run_. The sentry bots will not fire on you as long as you remain within five metres of either myself or Lucille,"

"Sentry bots!?" yelped Aveline – Daphne had to take a look again in the darkness, just to make sure that she had a scarlet ribbon tied in her hair – who jumped up in fright when her mother mentioned them. "There's some down here?"

"Three, to be exact. One just outside the vault, and two inside the vault's antechamber. Let's continue on; I would rather not breathe sewer air longer than I need to,"

"Ori, what are these...'sentry butts' that your mother is talking about?" whispered Tracey as she walked closely behind Orianna. Her voice was somewhat muffled, thanks to the fact that she had a sleeve tightly clamped over her nose and mouth.

In the dim light, Daphne could only barely make out the black-ribboned redhead's pursed lips and furrowed brows as she attempted to make an answer. "Sentry bots, not butts, Tracey. They are high-tech automated defence machines. Non-magical war golems, if it would be easier to think of them that way. They've got three wheeled legs, a whole lot of armour, and lots and lots of heavy weapons. I have only seen them once or twice at Salisbury Plain, and they are definitely _not_ something that I want to be on the wrong side of,"

"But what can they actually do?"

"Let's just say that they can make a blasting curse look like a weak knockback jinx. And that's when they're not using their rocket launchers,"

Making a blasting curse look like a weak knockback jinx. Daphne made a mental note to not to cross one. Especially in such a narrow tunnel.

In the magical world, the more flamboyant the effect, the more gaudy the spells tended to look; and the same was true for many magical creatures. In that sense, she found that proved true even for non-magical constructs. When she encountered the sentry bot, it took every ounce of willpower Daphne had to not turn around and flee. With a single glowing red glass eye, a hulking troll-sized body of black steel and a menacing mechanical rumble every time it moved, it was as terrifying as an acromantula in the Care of Magical Creatures textbooks that she had. It stood in front of a gear-shaped door of steel, guarding a brightly-painted yellow and black rectangle that she recognised as a muggle 'control panel'.

"MOVEMENT DETECTED. YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS STATE YOUR BUSINESS," it boomed in a stilted, halting voice. The three-barrelled weapons in its 'hands' glowed a bright emerald green – the exact shade of a killing curse – and it had raised them, aiming straight at the group.

Amanda simply waved it off. "Colonel Amanda R. Flynn, British Army Medical Research Corps. Authorisation code alpha-five-niner-charlie. Stand down,"

"AUTHORISATION CODE RECEIVED. PROCESSING...AUTHORISATION CONFIRMED. RESUMING PASSIVE PATROL PROCEDURES,"

"What had just happened?" Daphne asked Aveline, eyeing the 'sentry bot' suspiciously as it wheeled about and took up a position to the side.

"Mum just made it not shoot at us. I think it's supposed to shoot at anything that isn't supposed to be here," Aveline whispered back.

A most horrible squeal of metal grinding against metal filled the tunnel as the gear-shaped door shuddered and shook. Little flakes of dust and concrete fell from the ceiling as it slowly moved inwards, an inch at a time. A final, deafening clang thundered through the entire tunnel when the gear-door finally opened; a metal catwalk slid out from inside, allowing them access to the vault proper.

Daphne, Tracey and Hermione all gaped in awe as they stepped through the vault's threshold. Inside was a brightly-lit entry hall, covered entirely in sterile white tiles. Crate upon crate of glass vials, jars, bottles and retorts filled one corner, while another corner seemed to be filled by all sorts of plant specimens in clear plastic boxes. Four robots, shaped like hovering spheres with arms – Mister Handies, the muggle house-elves, she corrected herself – were busily moving things down the hallways to the right. A large round window loomed over the main entryway, reinforced by a thick steel mesh.

"Follow me, and stay close. The sentry bots haven't been instructed to recognise your faces yet, and they may decide to shoot if you stray too far," Amanda ordered them curtly.

Where the Mister Handies had been taking things to the right, Amanda took them down a narrow corridor to the left. Daphne could see what looked like a muggle version of a potions laboratory through the windows on her left, while on her right was a strange room that had three man-sized glass tanks full of a glowing sickly-green goo. A roaring, white-hot furnace was just barely visible beyond the glass tanks. "Chemistry laboratory and the cloning facility are off-limits to everyone," Amanda warned. "There are chemicals inside that will kill you in seconds if handled improperly, and others that will kill you in a few years. Without prompt medical intervention with facilities that are not present in this vault, you _will_ die. So please, Zoe, do not even _think_ about going inside without a HAZMAT suit; and especially without myself or Lucille around,"

"Aye, aye, mother-in-chief, I hear you,"

"Orianna, make sure that she obeys if I am not already inside,"

They climbed up a set of stairs and into a comfortable-looking office. A circular desk with a single high-backed swivel chair sat in the middle of the room, with several smaller chairs arranged in a semicircle about it. Piles upon piles of books were stacked on top of the table, some precariously perched on its edge.

"Excellent, we've made it to the vault, and the bombs have not dropped yet. Daphne, what was that-"

A loud crack interrupted Amanda's question as Dipsy popped into the office. With him were Mr. and Mrs. Davis, and Astoria, Daphne's younger sister – and nobody else.

"-Well, I suppose that answers my question. Hello, Valerie, William – and who might you be?"

"That's my younger sister, Astoria," Daphne answered quickly, while the three new arrivals gawked at their odd surroundings. "Dipsy, where are my mother and father?"

"Dipsy is sorry, Miss Daphne! Dipsy asked Master and Mistress if they would like to come as well, but they said to not bother them. Dipsy was banished from the house when Dipsy asked twice! Dipsy is a bad elf!"

Daphne's eyes widened as she realised what Dipsy was about to do. Lunging forward, she caught the house-elf by the scruff of his turtleneck jumper and held him up in the air with difficulty. Unable to grab anything to punish himself with, Dipsy howled in anguish and started beating himself up with his fists. "Dipsy, stop!" Daphne ordered, in the most imperious voice that she could muster. "You have tried your best and that is all that matters. I order you to stop!"

With great difficulty, the house-elf strained and strained – and eventually fell limp in her hands, howling in anguish. "Dipsy is bad elf! Dipsy failed Miss Daphne. But Miss Daphne orders Dipsy to not punish himself over his failure. What will Dipsy's master think?"

"You do not need to inform him of anything, Dipsy. I order you to stay with me for now," Daphne spoke carefully, hoping to not set him off again. She sighed in relief when Dipsy nodded and straightened up. "Now, I will set you down – and I want you to stay in that corner until we are done. Tori, what did mother and father say?"

"They said that they still had things to do, Daphy. I went with Dipsy because I thought you were at Ori's place," Astoria replied, looking around confusedly at her surroundings. "This doesn't look like someone's house? Where are we, Daphy?"

"That, I can answer. Hello, Astoria," Amanda said as she typed in a command into the computer on the circular desk. "You are currently in Vault M-3, a secret British government facility underneath Surrey. Think of it as...my second home. One that's safe from nuclear explosions when I seal it – which is...done,"

Several loud clanks came from downstairs, from the direction of the entryway. Daphne cast a glance to the circular window in front of Amanda; she could see orange strobe lights flashing, accompanied by the infernal blaring of a muggle siren. The gear-shaped door shifted ponderously closed, lifted into place by a gigantic steam-spewing piston. With a final, ringing clang, the door finally ground shut; half a dozen bolts, as thick as she was tall, slid into slots around the gear's rim, holding it firmly shut.

"Nuclear explosions? Like the ones that destroyed half of the Middle East?" chuckled Mr. Davis weakly. "I'm pretty sure it won't come to that, will it?"

Amanda's response was to simply check her wrist-device. "Two minutes to three," she murmured quietly.

"I'm sorry, but—what?"

As if on cue, the earth shook violently. Despite being dozens of feet underground, encased in a massive concrete-and-steel vault seemingly built to withstand even the most powerful of gouging curses and blasting hexes cast by Grindelwald himself, Daphne screamed in terror as she was hurled to the ground by a powerful tremor that felt as though a hippogriff had tackled her about the midriff. And judging by the confused shrieks and terrified screams of everyone else about her, so too had everyone else. The electric lights around them flickered on and off; a cable or two around them snapped and let off blinding showers of sparks. Rumbling and cracking noises filled the entire room, punctuated here and there by the groaning of the steel beams that held up the entire vault. Bits of crumbling concrete and built-up dust came down from the ceiling; she threw up her hands to shield her eyes from the worst of it. To top it all off, her entire world was plunged into darkness when every one of the muggle lights in the area suddenly switched off, only to be replaced by dull red ones that were apparently embedded into the ground.

Numerous more tremors rocked the vault; less violent than the first, but still enough to stop anyone from rising to their feet. The blonde heiress simply lay on the floor, fearing for her life with her arms feebly protecting her head. She had no idea just how long had passed before the last of the tremors had stopped, and the ceiling had stopped raining dust on her head. When it did, Daphne peeked through her fingers to see if nothing else was going to fall on her.

Thankfully, she only saw the near pitch-black darkness of the ceiling above. Groaning, she sat up and took a look around. Books had tumbled off the table, and their trunks had all fallen over

Silence. The entire vault had gone silent. The previous constant hum of whatever machinery lay within its bowels had gone away, replaced by eerie nothingness.

"I—is that it? Is it over?" asked Mrs. Davis, in a shaky voice barely more than a whisper. "That...that was an earthquake, wasn't it?"

"I do not know for sure. I certainly hope that my predictions are wrong, and that you are right," Amanda muttered. She sat up and climbed back to her feet, tapping a few times on the computer at the desk and giving an annoyed click of her tongue. "Wonderful. It appears that the main reactor had been taken offline by the shocks, but at least the backup power cells are still functional. And...there. Air purification and water purification systems appear to be fine. It seems we are safe for now,"

The loud hum of something – perhaps the 'reactor' that Amanda had spoken about – thrummed through the halls of the vault. One by one, the ordinary white lights flickered on again. She slumped back into her chair in relief. "I suppose I owe you all an explanation, don't I?" Amanda said ruefully. "Well, perhaps when we are all a little calmer. Lucille, please lead them down to the living quarters. Level 2-B, on the west wing of the vault; take their luggage there. There is also a dining room opposite the bedrooms; I think a pot of strong tea is in order to calm our nerves. I shall join you all there once I have more answers from my superiors,"

A brief pause. She coughed and corrected herself. "...If my superiors still live, that is,"

That answer truly did not make Daphne feel any better. Not at all.

* * *

A/N:

The first nuclear missiles have struck London. It will be some time yet until the full effects make themselves known. For now, there will be much tension within the vault itself. Tension for answers about what is happening; about friends and family that they hadn't been able to save; and what life holds for them in the years after. Stay tuned for the aftermath of the Great War.

-ArcturusWolf


	3. Purged by Flame

It all seemed like a perfectly normal Saturday to Persephone Greengrass. She woke up nice and early, before dawn; ordered the house-elves to move seeds, seedlings and harvested plant parts from their estate's greenhouses to the family shop in Diagon Alley; and then busied herself with ensuring that she looked nothing less than _immaculate_ for when she needed to face her clients. Her blonde hair dyed to an even golden colour to hide any greying strands, her pale cheeks dusted with just the right amount of blush to highlight her elegant form, and her robes ironed and pressed to perfection. Only when she was satisfied did she let her personal house-elf, Mipsy, off to do the rest of its housework.

Eight o'clock sharp, she pecked her husband twice on the cheeks, just as a proper wife should; and then she was off to tend the masses until close of business that day. No doubt there would be many more visitors than usual, as the weekend happened to be when most magical families actually had time to make their purchases.

At least, those that did not have the wealth or diligence to acquire a house-elf. Or if they were unfortunate enough to be muggleborns. Or – if they were actually rather odd muggles with magical children. Like that strange red-haired woman who never failed to come and purchase magical plants every fortnight at three o'clock on Saturday, along with the required fertiliser. A part of her wanted to turn the woman's requests down, but she paid quite handsomely for her discretion, and never haggled down the prices that she had set.

Three Galleons for a set of six dittany seedlings and two bags of dragon dung? It was at least three times more than what she would normally sell for. But a client was a client, even if she was only a muggle with magical children. A quick tempus charm showed that it was four minutes to three. In exactly four minutes, that strange muggle would come in through that door, wearing that odd white 'laboratory coat' that she always wore over a strange jumper in mottled brown, green and grey colours that resembled the undergrowth of a forest. She would drop a bag of coins on the counter, collect her plants and leave with very few words spoken.

She recalled that the woman had placed an order for a rather rare plant that day. Everfrost flowers were difficult to find in Britain, as they typically required glacial temperatures and darkness to flourish. Seeing that nobody else was in the shop to purchase anything else, Persephone slipped into the basement of the building, where the plant was kept under a permanent cooling charm.

A whip-like crack sounded from in front of her. "Dipsy?" she asked the house-elf that bowed before her. "What are you doing here? Should you not be cleaning the house?"

"Begging your pardons, Mistress Greensies, but Dipsy was asked to take Mistress to little Mistress Daphy. Right now, Mistress Daphy says,"

"Dipsy. You are well aware that I am working at the moment, and I cannot simply leave because my daughter wishes to speak to me," Persephone spoke, looking curiously at her house-elf. It seemed somewhat agitated. "Is something the matter?"

"Mistress Daphy says that it is an emergency, and that Dipsy should take Mistress Greensies over to Daphy,"

"And if it is an emergency, then how is it that Daphne appears to have the time to send you to me? With a message, no less?" replied the Greengrass matriarch. She held up her hand before the elf could say another nonsensical word. "No. Clearly there is no emergency. Return to Daphne and inform her that I will not go because she says so, without any reason at all,"

"B-but..."

"I am your mistress, Dipsy, and she is not. Go back to her and inform her of my answer,"

The bat-eared creature seemed torn between obeying Persephone and her daughter, but ultimately Persephone's orders would always take priority over whatever her daughter asked of the elf. "Dipsy understands, miss. Dipsy will...will do as mistress asks,"

"Very good. On your way, then,"

With another crack, the house-elf vanished from sight. Persephone sighed; the elves were useful around the house, but sometimes their loyalty and enthusiasm could be quite excessive. Now that the elf was gone, perhaps she could attend to her business. After all, the icy plant needed to be re-potted in a specially enchanted glass container.

It all happened so quickly. One moment she was putting her finishing touches on the frost-covered plant, carefully making sure that it was still healthy and strong and ready for transport. The next, she had been thrown violently to the ground by an earthquake. Or so she thought until she heard a deafening boom from the room above, which only barely drowned out what sounded like millions of glass, wood and metal objects all breaking, shattering or tearing apart all at once. More earthquakes followed; for the longest two minutes in her life, she felt herself quiver in terror under the thickest table she could find in the tiny stone room.

Only once the tremors had stopped did she tentatively crawl out from under the table. Most of the plants in the room had been thrown to the ground and their containers shattered. Frowning, she waved her wand and cast a silent repairing charm over all the broken ceramic and earthenware, putting them all back together.

"I should check if the rest of the shop needs repairs," muttered the Greengrass matriarch. She dusted off her robes and pushed open the basement's trapdoor.

Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw the moment she stepped out of her shop's basement. Her shop – or what was left of it – was ablaze. As was the entirety of Diagon Alley that hadn't collapsed. It was a scorching inferno that sent towering flames high into the sky, amidst shattered stonework and shivered timberwork. Perhaps it was only due to the fact that her husband had ordered the goblins to reinforce her shop's stone walls that it still remained standing; the ice-cream parlour beside her had collapsed entirely into a burning pile of rubble, while the joke shop across the alley occasionally sent out gouts of colourful flame as fireworks exploded from the unbearable heat.

"Glacius!" she incanted, forming a spherical shell of ice around herself. It took quite a bit of magic for her to maintain the icy shield, as the ice seemed to melt about as quickly as she could form it. Nevertheless, it was still enough for her to move about despite her blazing surroundings. "Merlin. What on Earth happened...?"

Out in the alley itself, there was literally nobody to be seen. Never mind the fact that just ten minutes ago, it was very much alive with the usual hustle and bustle of business being carried out; there was not even a single personto be found. One person vanishing she could attribute to a panicked person apparating away, whether by house-elf or themselves. The entire Alley, however? That, Persephone could not make sense of.

"Hello? Is anybody out there?" she called out. Only the roaring flames answered her call, devouring the husks of the buildings around hers. She whipped around in panic when she heard the ominous groaning and creaking of a building to her right; Ollivander's wandshop had tumbled to the ground, scattering millions of embers and burning splinters across the street as it did so. Followed by the apothecary, which exploded in a brilliant burst of sparks in all the colours of the rainbow.

The only building that still stood relatively unscathed was Gringotts. The golden lettering above its main doorway had been bleached white and every single window may have been blasted off, but it still stood, and it was not burning like the others. "Perhaps they have taken refuge there?" Persephone muttered to herself.

On the white marble steps leading to the bank, however, Persephone spotted something truly bizarre on the steps. The silhouette of a wizard – robes, hat, wand and all – had been scorched into the otherwise featureless stone. It was as though he had vanished from the face of the earth, leaving behind only his shadow. Looking around, she nearly dropped her wand in horror when she noticed that there were _other_ shadows also burned into the ground about her feet.

A boy eating an ice-cream. A woman and her pet Kneazle. An owl with a message tied to its leg. A couple, their hands entwined. A mother cradling her infant child.

Just what manner of horrifying curse had inflicted such widespread carnage? She felt her stomach churn and bile rose up in her throat.

The sight of the previously pristine bank covered in ash, soot and grime nearly brought Persephone to her knees. She may not have had much love for the goblins – money-grubbing, extortionate fiends as they were – but the bank was to her, as it was for most wizards and witches of Britain, a symbol of stability and prosperity. The tellers' booths had been all blown to bits; goblins and human clients alike had been reduced to ashen skeletons and charred corpses. Some were not even whole, their parts scattered like blackened leaves in a fiery tempest.

"Did anybody survive? Hello? Is anybody there?" she cried out hoarsely. She desperately hoped that there was something – anything – living inside.

"Did you hear that, Nev? Someone's out there, isn't there?" she heard a raspy, croaking voice to her right. It seemed to have come from the consultation offices to the side of the main hall, only barely audible over the crackling flames outside.

"Is somebody there?" Persephone called out more loudly. "If someone is there, do answer!"

"Yes! We're here, in the third room to the right! Neville's with us! Please, come help!"

Third room to the right. The first and the second had collapsed entirely, filled by rubble. The third, however, seemed to be still in fair condition; crumbling ceiling and stuck door aside. "Stand away from the door, I am going to break it down. Confringo!"

A rather ungainly and brutish spell, Persephone hated casting the Blasting Curse. Yet even she could not deny its effectiveness at breaking things that she couldn't vanish properly. The heavy, stuck wooden door broke into a million little pieces as her curse struck it with a bang, letting her finally come into the room. Inside were two unconscious – or perhaps dead – goblins, whose half-melted faces looked as though they had been put under a dragon's fire; a pale, round-faced boy that she knew as the Heir of House Longbottom, with-

"Merlin. What on Earth—Augusta?" she whispered, reaching down to touch the woman's body. Her robes had literally been melted to her skin, and her face was nearly unrecognisable. If it were not for the signet ring on her blackened left hand, she doubted that she could have registered the ancient Longbottom regent's body. "Heir Longbottom? Are you safe?"

Neville only nodded stiffly in response. The poor boy was still staring blankly at his grandmother's smouldering corpse, too shocked to respond. Instead, it was his companion that answered.

"Yes, we're both fine," Heir Potter answered shakily. Harry, if she recalled his name correctly. He was clutching an arm that was a dark pink and was covered in unsightly blisters, and part of his robes had been burned away. His hair was somewhat singed, though that seemed to be the extent of his injuries. "Well, we weren't injured that badly, at least. Do...do you know what happened, Miss...?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Heir Potter. I was in the basement of my store when this...event occurred," Persephone answered, mustering back a modicum of propriety. "And my name is Persephone Greengrass. You may call me Lady Greengrass for now,"

"Greengrass? As in, Daphne Greengrass?"

"Oh. So it appears you have met my daughter?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "Well, yes, there is only one Greengrass family in all of Wizarding Britain, Heir Potter. But this is hardly a place to stand around and talk. Did you come across any other survivors?"

"I think I heard some of the goblins take some of the others into the vaults when the earthquakes started, but I didn't see much more when the explosions happened and knocked everything down,"

Explosions. The damage around the alley certainly made sense if it was some sort of oversized explosion. But what sort of careless potion master would be so careless as to destroy an entire street worth of shops? "I see," Persephone replied. "I suppose I shall notify the DMLE later to check on the goblin tunnels. For now, we should go,"

"Go where? The fireplace in the hall's smashed. I saw it break when half the ceiling came down on it,"

Persephone bit back a choice curse word. Taking the Floo would have been the safest way to travel with the two boys. She had never been particularly accurate with her Apparition, and to take two more with her in an attempt to perform a Side-Along Apparition was definitely a recipe for disaster. "Let us have a look around first. Perhaps there would be not damaged," she replied slowly.

Fortunately for the blonde matriarch, she did not have to look very far. She had to suppress an urge to scream in frustration as a house-elf popped into existence in the main hall alongside two people in curious bright yellow outfits that covered them head to toe, save for a smooth mask of black glass that obscured their faces. _Of course_ she could have just asked for her house-elf to come and collect her!

"Mipsy!" she called out. Nothing happened. "Tipsy! Morty!"

Still nothing.

"Dipsy!"

"Dipsy is already here, Lady Greensies!" squeaked the house-elf that had taken the two people along. "Dipsy brought Mistress Daphy and Mandy!"

"Daphne? What are you...never mind. I am simply relieved that you are safe. Were you with your friend, Tracey?"

"No, mother, I was not," Daphne spoke. There was a forced calm in it; the very same that Charles, her husband, used when he needed to break bad news to her. "I was with Orianna when this happened,"

"Orianna? The muggleborn Slytherin? You mean to tell me that you went to—no, _stayed in_ _a_ _muggle's_ _house_?!" shrieked Persephone in disbelief.

"And this _muggle_ will provide you with a shelter that will protect you from the impending apocalypse that has already begun to destroy the world. Despite your rather cutting words, Lady Greengrass," spoke the other yellow-covered figure irritably. "I see two survivors behind you, yet no package with you. Did you manage to save the plant that I had requested for today?"

Persephone was thunderstruck. This was the muggle that she had been selling magical plants to? Had she just unwittingly insulted her most regular and well-paying customer? Not that her shop would be selling anything else for a while, but her pride as a Greengrass had been severely wounded. Letting her emotions show like that was a terrible slip that would surely not go unnoticed – and certainly not unexploited.

"I assume not," sighed her muggle client. "How vexing,"

"Dipsy can fetch it if it is in Mistress Greengrass' shop. It would be quick, Mistress Mandy,"

"Thank you, Dipsy. Go and do so if you can be quick about it. We have five minutes before the next wave of nuclear missiles will reach us," she ordered. Dipsy, strangely enough, _complied_ and vanished with a crack, reappearing seconds later with the glass jar containing the Everfrost flower in its hands. "Ah, that would be it. Now, we really do not have any more time. Harry, and...I'm sorry, but I do not know your friend's name. Come and link hands so that Dipsy can take us all back to Vault M-3,"

"Back? Back to _where_?" demanded Persephone. "Dipsy, ignore her! You will take us back to Greengrass Estate! We will be safer behind our war wards than in some muggle building!"

"You will do no such thing, Dipsy. Take us back to Vault M-3," Daphne calmly ordered the house-elf. To Persephone's shock, the house-elf actually _obeyed her daughter_ over her orders. It quickly guided the two confused boys behind her to hold one of the muggle woman's hands. "And mother. Please refrain from insulting our _gracious host_. She is offering us a chance to live,"

The Greengrass matriarch was far too stunned to react angrily. Her daughter – her own eldest daughter was talking _down_ to her, like a mother to a child! How dare she! Yet before she could reply with an angry rebuke, she felt her daughter's hand grab her shoulder and all of them vanished from Gringotts with a loud _pop_.

* * *

Amanda cradled her head as she sipped the last of her fourth mug of steaming hot tea that evening. The last reports that she had received over encrypted communications channels were from the radar installations near Scapa Flow, which had gone silent after it had reported a single airborne object heading its way. That had been an hour ago; approximately the same time when the Vault was again rocked by nuclear explosions over a period of five minutes. Since then, there had only been total silence. Silence across civilian frequencies and military frequencies alike, without even the slightest hint of a properly-encoded channel on any frequency.

It was, quite literally, an extinction of technology. An event that she had envisioned and dreaded, and yet it had finally come to pass. She wished that she had smuggled a stronger drink into the Vault, but she hadn't managed to figure out a way to reprogram the sentry bots to disregard banned substances before the bombs fell.

A gentle hand slowly rubbed circles on her arm. "Ma cherie, you could not 'ave known that zis would 'appen," Lucille whispered into her ear. "Dinner will be served soon. Please look a little less troubled,"

"That would be rather difficult, Lucille," sighed Amanda. "The world has, pardon my language, gone to shite. Everything has fallen apart. The government we once served? The last message that I had received from HQ was that both Buckingham Palace and Whitehall had both been hit by nuclear weapons. No expected survivors. We have a nation without leaders – if a nation that has burned down to the ground has any right to be called one any more,"

"Yet we are still alive, non?" said the brunette woman soothingly. "You often said it yourself. Where zere is a will, zere is a way,"

The copper-haired scientist snorted in amusement and set down her empty mug. "You always seem to find a silver lining to everything, Lucille. There is small wonder that our daughters prefer your company to mine. In any case, enough pitying myself for the time being. I do believe that it is time for dinner,"

"Indeed it is. I 'ave been told by Daphne that zis...'ouse elf of theirs...is a most competent cook. Zough I 'ave my doubts zat 'e can do anything with ze nutrient paste from ze extruder,"

Amanda pulled a face at the reminder of what the only food available in the Vault was. Nutrient paste, a precursor of the biogel that was used to keep cloned or created embryos alive, was not exactly the most delicious food around. In fact, the closest description she had of it would be a mushy, sticky slurry that resembled a moss-green toothpaste. One that smelled faintly of fresh grass clippings, and tasted much the same. It wasn't ever intended to be eaten as food, though it was definitely one of the most nutritious things that one could ever consume.

"Dinner. If it weren't for the fact that sustenance was necessary to life, I would pass on that disgusting paste," groaned the geneticist, rising up from her overseer's chair. "Please tell me that we at least have salt down here. We did bring some along, didn't we?"

The answer, it seemed, was that she did not need to worry at all. Not while a house-elf was around. The moment that she entered the vault's dining hall, a most enticing aroma filled her nostrils. Caramelised onions and a rich brown gravy were slathered all over a thick roll of roasted pork, which was itself sitting on a bed of browned and buttered baked potatoes. Beside it sat a pile of beautifully fluffy bread rolls, toasted to perfection. And even as she took in the incredible dinner laid out before her, Aveline was walking out of the kitchen with a huge steaming bowl of peas, with Tracey following closely behind her while munching on a croissant.

"Oh, mum! We've just finished making dinner," Aveline said excitedly as she set the bowl down on the table. "You wouldn't believe how good Dipsy is with cooking. It's really delicious!"

"Thank you Miss Ivy!" Dipsy called out of the kitchen. "Dipsy loves miss' kind words!"

"Eh-heh...he's also kind of excitable,"

"I can see that," Amanda commented. She spotted Zoe surreptitiously licking her fingers after nicking a bit of the roasted pork. "The bigger question is, I am absolutely certain that the only foodstuff available in this vault is...well, the disgusting nutrient paste. The quartermasters certainly have not provided anything else, as this was never meant to be a residential or garrison vault by any means. Would you care to—oh, never mind, I think I know the answer to that,"

Zoe, Aveline and Tracey all grinned at each other. "Magic!" they replied in unison, giggling when Amanda groaned in response.

"Still, is it appropriate to celebrate like this when the world is burning with atomic fire?"

"Yes. It seems to be in poor taste to celebrate in times like these,"

"Oh, cheer up for once, Ori. You too, 'Mione. We're alive, at least, and we don't have to eat that...whatever that green paste is. That stuff is really gross, and thank God for Dipsy's food-transfiguration magic. Anyway, where'd Harry and Nev go? I swear they were here just a couple of minutes ago,"

Aveline looked about. "No idea. Did they go back to their rooms? And where's Daphne?"

The door leading into the dining room slid open again. Daphne marched into the room, wearing a stony expression on her face. Behind her came Persephone, whose eyes were puffy and red, as though she had cried for some time. Astoria was trailing closely behind Persephone, likewise looking much the same. "Is something the matter, Lady Greengrass?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but Daphne's hand on her shoulder silenced her. "We will speak once everyone is seated. I have...an announcement to make," she said curtly. Her lips were drawn thinly, and her eyes had a glistening sheen of tears in them, though she evidently refused to shed them. "Potter. Longbottom. Go inside, I will not hex you, curse you or jinx you. House divisions mean nothing here, as we are not currently in Hogwarts,"

The fact that it was likely forever remained unspoken. If the nuclear bombs hit London severely, then there was a good chance that the rail line leading away from Platform Nine and Three Quarters had been obliterated. And even if it were to be repaired, did Hogwarts even remain? And would there even be enough students to fill it? What about the teachers?

"Very well. Everyone, please be seated," Amanda said, motioning to the empty chairs. A snap of Dipsy's fingers, and every single chair slid backwards just enough to let everyone sit; another snap, and they slid forward again once everyone had seated themselves. "Thank you, Dipsy. Now, you had something to say, Daphne?"

"Indeed I do," Daphne said, glaring at her mother. "As of two hours and fifteen minutes ago, House Greengrass has effectively gone extinct in all its male lines. Therefore, as my family ring indicates-" she held up her left hand, where a gleaming golden ring sat on her little finger, bearing the golden oak tree of the Greengrass family, "-I am the head of House Greengrass, as its oldest living female of the bloodline. As our family home appears to have been destroyed by this...nuclear fire, I humbly request of Mrs. Flynn shelter and her hospitality for...well, until we are able to rebuild our home and return to it,"

Daphne paused, as though waiting for a reply. Amanda raised an eyebrow and looked to the others for assistance. Her daughters looked completely lost, as did Harry. Lucille seemed to understand some of what had been said; but, like herself, did not know how to respond. After an awkward pause, Neville cleared his throat. "Uh, if you want, I can help you out here. She's asking for your permission to stay in your...vault?"

"I understand that, but how am I supposed to respond?" Amanda sighed.

Neville looked at the house-elf, who stood to one side. "Dipsy – it is Dipsy, right?" he said. The house-elf nodded enthusiastically. "Could you get a loaf of bread and some salt?"

The house-elf vanished and reappeared with a croissant on a plate and a cupful of salt. "Close enough. So—uh, you're supposed to offer the bread and salt to them. They're not allowed to ask for it, as it's supposed to be freely given,"

Feeling a little foolish, Amanda awkwardly accepted the croissant and salt and offered it to Daphne. The blonde tore off a small piece and dipped it into the salt before eating it. Persephone and Astoria likewise did the same. "Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Flynn. I shall repay this kindness in kind for the days to come," said Daphne formally. As soon as she had said so, a golden glow surrounded both Amanda and herself momentarily, taking both of them by surprise. "Well, that was unexpected. I did not think that invoking the _hospitium_ was binding when only one side was magical," mused Daphne.

"I assume that was some kind of ritual for...hosts to welcome guests?" Amanda asked.

"That is part of it. The other part is to stop guests from harming the hosts, and vice versa," said the new Lady Greengrass, who glared daggers at her mother. "Muggle or magical, we are in the same predicament, _mother_. It would be best if we worked together, instead of insulting them for the lack of a gift that we possess,"

Persephone looked as though she had chewed and swallowed an entire lemon, but stiffly nodded all the same. There was an unsettling coldness in the way Daphne treated her mother; it was as far from a normal mother-daughter relationship as Amanda thought it should be. In fact, Amanda could have thought Persephone was some kind of stranger to Daphne, given the way the two acted to each other! She made a mental note to address it later, when everything settled down.

"Wait, how come Neville didn't do that? Or Harry?" Zoe pointed out.

"We don't really follow those rules. I mean, my mum and dad don't, but my gran does," Neville said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "Gran made sure that I knew about it in case we ever visited a more traditional Wizarding family, like the Malfoys, or...well, the Greengrasses,"

"Wonderful. So it appears that yet another scion of the older families is forgetting his roots," snarked Persephone.

"Enough, mother. The _hospitium_ has been invoked, and you are well aware that means that you must be courteous to the host and the host's other guests," Daphne warned her mother. She then turned to Amanda and gave her a strained smile. "Well, I think it has been a long day, and many of us are likely famished. Shall we start on the meal?"

Relieved that Daphne had offered her a way to defuse the awkward situation that they were in, Amanda wholeheartedly nodded. "Please, enjoy. I have to admit that I do not know what magic was used to create the meal from the nutrient paste, but I do hope that it is as delicious as it looks and smells,"

Needless to say, the geneticist was not disappointed after she had eaten her first bite. Aveline was not joking when she said that Dipsy's cooking was delicious. If anything, she had grievously understated just how good the house-elf was at cooking. Within half an hour, every plate had been polished off, leaving nothing behind. And just when she thought that things couldn't get better, Dipsy simply snapped his fingers and every single piece of dinnerware simply vanished and the table linens magically cleansed of all crumbs and spills.

"Well then. I was going to suggest that Orianna and Zoe do the washing up, but that seems to have been taken care of. Thank you again, Dipsy,"

"Not a problem, Mistress Mandy! Dipsy is glad to be of service!" it squeaked, giving a small bow.

"Now then. Today's events must have been quite exhausting, not to mention traumatising for some of us. Perhaps we should retire for the evening to calm our nerves. Harry, Neville; you two will share a room on the floor nearest the reactor chamber. Zoe, Orianna; you two will be sharing a room next to the kitchens. Given your masses, you will _only_ use the lower bunks on each bed. Astoria will take one of the top bunks, and Hermione will take the other. Tracey, I hope that you would not mind sharing a bed with Orianna? I have to admit, this vault was never designed to accommodate so many people,"

The woman looked about ready to protest again – likely to demand a room of her own – but a quick glare from Daphne caused her to put on a straight face again. Tracey, however, scooted over to Orianna, latching tightly on to her arm with an impish smirk on her face.

"Daphne and Aveline, you will be sharing a room next to the cloning chambers. Given that it still has many things still inside, it may be a little...cramped. I am sure that you will manage, however. As for you, Lady Greengrass-"

"Persephone. With my father's death, Lady Greengrass is myself," Daphne corrected her.

"Ah. Persephone, then. There is an empty storage room next to the boys' room that could hold a single bed or a bedroll, but has none at the moment. I am sure that we can find you something-"

"There will be no need for that," she replied curtly. "I shall simply conjure one _,"_

"Very well, then. Valerie, William - I hope that the room near the climate control system will not be too noisy for you. The fans can be a bit...squeaky,"

"That room with lots of fans? A silencing charm ought to do the trick," William replied with a shrug.

"What about you, mum?" Aveline asked, "I don't think I've seen any other rooms around,"

She let out a sigh. "I'll be sleeping in the Overseer's Office, in the chair. Lucille will be taking the couch there,"

Truthfully, however, she knew that she would get little sleep. The Overseer's Office still had the only working link to the outside world, through the encrypted comm channels that linked it to the military communications network all over Britain. Though the fact that several waves of nuclear weapons had probably levelled most of Britain, she dearly hoped that someone out there was still alive.

* * *

A/N:

A character development chapter is in order, I think, now that things have settled down slightly. I'm sure that there are questions about how the (previous) Lady Greengrass was behaving with regards to Daphne, her house-elves and the others. And also how Daphne behaved so curtly to her own mother.

So even the magical side of things has been thoroughly destroyed as well by nuclear fire. If there would be any magical survivors left, how would they survive the nuclear wasteland left behind? Perhaps in two hundred years' time, we shall find out.

NecroJake: Well, we'll soon find out, won't we? Whether the magicals got vaporised by nukes, or irradiated to death, or if they somehow find a way to survive the hellish world left behind.

Draed: Oh, the boys are there. Just not that many of them. After all, surviving the initial nuclear blasts is virtually luck-of-the-draw, about whether or not someone is shielded from the initial heat blast, the radiation, the blast shockwave, and any shrapnel that may be thrown about thanks to the initial blast shockwave.

Foul Steak: I can confirm neither have been vaporised. The nukes were not big enough. Ministry of Magic PoV might be a little ways off; Whitehall, which is where the Ministry of Magic is, ate a direct hit from a nuke. Part of the risk of being on the same spot as a lot of non-magical government offices, heh.

Synthesis is shelved for the moment. Better to leave it alone than to write uninspired, inane drivel.


	4. The World that Was

Daphne baulked at the sight of her 'room'. Cramped was the understatement of the century. It was a repurposed storage room, which still contained sealed crates and boxes piled up all the way to the ceiling. A small vent in the ceiling was blowing cold air into the room; Daphne thought herself quite comfortable in cold weather, but that was a bit too much. She shivered uncomfortably as she spotted the bed off to the side; the blanket looked quite thin, and the bed itself seemed only half as large as the four-poster beds that they each had in Hogwarts. It also didn't help that the mattress seemed to just be a thick, solid slab of dull black rubber. For some reason the bed itself seemed to be constructed out of rods of steel welded together, each as thick as her arm.

"Well, I guess this is our room. Sorry if it seems a little cramped," sighed Aveline apologetically. Their trunks were in the corner, stacked on top of each other. A small crate sat in front of them, forming a makeshift desk and chair. "It isn't much, but it's the best we can do right now,"

Daphne nodded mutely, trying to picture in her mind how she would have to squeeze through the narrow gap between boxes and crates just to get to and from their bed. It was quite distressing to the heiress – or rather, the current Lady Greengrass – who, just a week ago, had lived quite comfortably in the lap of luxury. She had no less than a king-sized four-poster bed at home, with a mattress stuffed with Puffskein fur and lined with luxuriously soft Acromantula silk. Aveline's home, while far humbler than what she was used to, was at least properly furnished and relatively comfortable.

It was true that simple wool, linen and duck down didn't hold a candle to the wondrous comfort that magical materials had, but at least it was suitable enough. Daphne nearly cringed as she touched the cold, hard mattress and the threadbare blanket. It barely yielded to her fingers, being almost as stiff as a wooden board. The blanket – if she could even call it that – seemed entirely inadequate to even ward off the cold breeze that continually poured through the vent in the ceiling.

"I suppose a warming charm would make the blanket somewhat acceptable, and this mattress should be adequate with a good softening charm," sighed the blonde. She took out her wand and cast the appropriate charms on each item. "I don't know if I am capable of making it last all night. I shall see, I suppose,"

Taking another look around the room, she realised that despite the huge amount of crates still inside, there was only one bed. "Where would you sleep, Aveline?"

"Oh. That's right, there's only one bed, isn't there? Well, let's see-"

"No, Aveline, don't!" Daphne quickly said, seeing Aveline push two crates together and sit down on it. No sooner had she done so than the crate collapsed beneath her weight, causing the silly red-haired girl tumbling to the floor among bits of crumpled plastic. "I was about to say, don't sit on them. Are you uninjured?"

"I'm fine, but geez. That metal floor is really cold," groaned Aveline. She dusted herself off and looked at the remains of the crate, along with the crumpled bags of assorted things that she had accidentally squashed. "I guess there's no more rules about when and where we can and can't use magic any more, right? Reparo,"

The crushed crate quickly wove itself back together again, along with its contents. "Right. I guess that's a bad idea. Hmm...I wonder if making it Unbreakable would work?"

"Unless you can gather enough magical energy to hold it until you wake up again, you would simply crush another crate. Or several," said Daphne.

"Oh. That's true. I guess I could just...I don't know, I could clear a space on the floor and sleep there? I mean, it's not like I haven't slept on the ground before,"

Daphne gasped in horror. "Sleeping? On the ground? No, that will not do. You will _not_ sleep on the ground,"

"So what should I do then? I don't think we have any spare beds anywhere, and I don't think any of us are good enough with Transfiguration to make a permanent bed out of anything here,"

Looking over the bed again, Daphne pursed her lips in thought. "Well, this bed appears to be very sturdy. It seems to be large enough for both of us to sleep here-"

"You're suggesting that we sleep together, on the same bed?!"

"If you have another option, I would like to hear it," Daphne shot back, rolling her eyes. "Besides, I seem to distinctly remember you creeping into my bed three days ago. You had no problems sleeping in the same bed then,"

"Hey, that's not fair! I had nightmares and couldn't sleep at all," Aveline cried out in protest. The vivid blush on her normally pale cheeks betrayed her embarrassment. "You didn't complain either when I did,"

"Indeed. I did not. I was too...comfortable...in that bed,"

Daphne felt her own cheeks heating up a little as those words slipped from her lips. Her mother and father had always raised her as a proper pureblood heiress. Aloof and elegant, refined and above the uncouth masses that were the muggleborns and the half-bloods. She was expected to maintain decorum and not besmirch the Greengrass name; maintain her purity until an appropriate suitor could be found for her, at which point she was expected to act faithfully in his name; and of course, present no loose ends that enemies of the family could abuse.

That, naturally, meant that she had few that she could truly call friends. Tracey aside, as officially the Davises were subordinate to her own family. Her own mother and father never gave displays of affection, whether openly or in private. It was considered inappropriate; weakening her resolve and ability to stand on her own. The little comforting pats, the friendly hugs that the affectionate girl gave her throughout her years in Hogwarts – they filled her heart with a warmth that had never been kindled by either of her parents.

A hand waving in front of her eyes brought her back to reality.

"Daphne? Daphne? Are you alright?" Aveline asked, concerned. "Wow. You blanked out for a moment there. Should I get mum to check if you're okay?"

"No, that should not be necessary. So...um...would you like to...get in the bed first? I would not mind sharing,"

"Okay, Daphne. Say, could you switch off the lights while you're there?"

A soft click of a switch later, and the room was now shrouded in pitch darkness. Daphne carefully walked back to the bed, feeling her way with both hands so as to not stumble on any of the numerous crates that were in the room. When her fingers finally touched the cold rubber of the mattress, the blonde girl carefully slid on. She dearly hoped that their combined weight would not collapse it; which, much to her relief, it did not once she had squeezed awkwardly into the remaining space on the bed.

It didn't take long before the cold wind blowing from the vent became slightly too much for Daphne. The blanket, despite a warming charm that had been placed on it, was not enough to cover both of them; just having half was not enough for her. The mattress, though softened, remained uncomfortably sticky if she remained still for too long, and felt as though she was going to freeze her skin off if she moved onto a fresh patch that did not feel as sticky. She tossed and turned in what little space she had, dearly wishing that she had read ahead and learned a space expansion charm before that night.

"Daphne?" murmured a sleepy Aveline. "Is something wrong?"

"It is too cold if I move, and I feel as though my skin would stick to the mattress if I stayed in one place," she sighed irritably. "Is there a better blanket or a bed somewhere else?"

Aveline let out a soft hum for a moment. "Well, no, not really. I don't know if mum had time to bring anything else down here," she answered glumly. "But, I think I know a way to fix this,"

Daphne yelped as she felt a strong arm slipping under her knees and lifting her up slightly. The blankets shifted all towards her side, wrapping under her and all around her, much like a comfortable cocoon. Remembering that the blanket was barely enough to cover both of them as it was, she realised that Aveline must have given her the whole blanket.

"No. You cannot give me all of the blanket, Aveline. That would be hardly fair for you. You would freeze overnight," protested Daphne, trying to push back the other girl to no avail.

"Oh, you shouldn't worry about me, Daphne. Usually, when mum takes us – I mean, me, Ori and Zoe – to field training during winter, we just sleep on the ground. A rubber mattress is better than just a bedroll on snowy rocks and packed ice, even if there is a tent above us," Aveline giggled.

A bedroll on cold rocks. That sounded like a truly, _truly_ terrible prospect. Daphne gave an involuntary shudder as she thought about sleeping on something so hard and uncomfortable. "Now come on," continued the gentle copper-haired girl, "You're more comfortable now, aren't you?"

"It is better than before, yes. Thank you, Aveline,"

"No problems! That's what friends are for, right?"

Friend. It was...oddly comforting to hear that spoken of her. Did she truly do anything that deserved such a title? She remembered upsetting Zoe on the first Potions lesson they had, by calling a perfectly-brewed potion merely adequate. She had managed to irritate Aveline before by refusing to apologise to Hermione for insulting her about her blood status; an insult that she should have realised would have offended almost all of her closest acquaintances. Had a pureblood of high status been insulted so grievously, she was certain that whoever had issued the insult would be lying in a shallow grave.

Yet here was someone that offered Daphne support. That included her in their activities, despite not being obliged to do so. Who forgave her for her indiscretions and unwitting insults. She wondered exactly how much she owed her.

"You don't owe me a thing, Daphne. You're my friend,"

The Lady of House Greengrass' brain screeched to a halt. "I—I—I'm-I'm sorry?!" she choked out after a moment, utterly mortified. Blushing furiously, she was glad that at least the room was completely dark. She would never live her embarrassment down if she was seen with what must be a deep scarlet face by now. "Oh, Merlin. I said all that out loud, didn't I?" lamented Daphne.

Aveline pulled her into an embrace and patted her back, giggling as she did so. "Oh, you're so silly sometimes, Daphne. The things you did in first year? Zoe's called it even after she slipped that pepper powder in your drinks for a week. Hermione's forgiven you for...well, ages. And I really don't care if someone calls me a mudblood or a muggleborn,"

"You...you don't?"

"Nope. They're just names,"

"Why? Why do you—never mind; a better question would be _how_ do you not get offended?" demanded Daphne. "Your family, your blood – it is something to be proud of, is it not?"

"Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn't," Aveline replied simply. "My mum – Lucille, I mean, not Amanda. She's always told us that life's too short to hate people. Why waste time caring about what others that don't matter think? I mean, I'd rather be looking after people that _do_ matter to me. Like you,"

"Like...like me?!"

"Of course, Daphne! Like you, Tracey, Zoe, Ori and Hermione. Or both of my mums, of course," murmured Aveline lightly. "Now, how about we sleep? Mum's probably got some more things to talk to us about tomorrow,"

It didn't take long before Aveline fell asleep, with Daphne still nestled in her embrace. The shorter blonde girl felt the gentle rise and fall of her chest; the gentle ebb and flow of her breath tickling her own ear. Wrapped up in a warm blanket which both took away the sticky discomfort of the rubber mattress and the coldness of the air in the room, she felt...oddly safe. There was a warmth in her heart that she had never felt before, one that she wished would never fade away. Not even in the most luxurious of Acromantula silk furnishings she felt as comfortable as she was now, in the arms of another who actually cared for her.

Who actually _liked_ her for who she was. Not for her wealth, as some of her suitors from lesser Houses did. Not for her family's prestige, as some of the other lords and ladies of greater Houses did. Not for the looks, as the lust-addled boys in the Slytherin dorms did. And definitely not simply as a means to further a bloodline, as her parents did.

* * *

Several days passed. Or was it weeks? Daphne found it all too difficult to keep accurate track of time, with no sunlight ever getting into the vault. One thing for certain, however, was that boredom was definitely setting in among them all. There was only so many ways one could play with one's magic; after all, tossing balls of light to each other tended to get a little old after the umpteenth time around.

There was an exercise room in the lower vault, where several self-rotating horizontal torture racks that Muggles called 'treadmills' sat alongside various lead weights and other bizarre Muggle devices for physical fitness. Orianna had made sure that they were all in reasonable physical shape by forcing them all to run five miles a day, and engage in a few bouts of 'boxing' against a sand-filled leather bag. While the no-nonsense triplet had made sure that none of Hermione, Daphne, Tracey or Astoria were strangers to exercise, thanks to their daily before-dawn sessions at school, the same could not be said for the boys that they had roped along. Huffing, puffing, panting - and one time, even collapsing in a dead faint - the boys provided a source of entertainment to the girls, who finally saw the benefits of their training in their much improved endurance.

"It is not my fault that you two do not engage in proper exercise regularly," Orianna waved them off dismissively after they complained about being forced to run so far.

"I did Quidditch exercises in Hogwarts," Harry said sullenly.

"Oh, Harry, you're so silly. Didn't you know that playing with your broomstick is not vigorous exercise?" Zoe chanted in a sing-song voice.

All the other girls and both boys choked a little and blushed a bright scarlet. Doubly so when Zoe flashed them all a cheeky grin and winked, making a rather suggestive gesture with her hands. "Riding it all morning must be oh-so-exhausting. But I don't see you going all night long too,"

"Zoe. Enough," Orianna sighed, her cheeks still slightly pink. "Mother mentioned that we will be required to come along with her for an excursion today. Briefing will be after breakfast. Go have a shower and eat your meal. It sounded quite urgent,"

"Wait, what about us? I thought Miss Laurent wanted to check up on us after...what was that...Rad-something treatment?"

"Radiation treatment. And yes, you and Harry are excused from this excursion as any further untreated exposure might render you both sterile. However, I doubt that mother would stop you from coming to the meeting anyway,"

Daphne winced internally at the blunt way that Orianna had delivered the news to Harry and Neville. It was certainly true that their family jewels had been somewhat damaged by simply being above ground at the time of the nuclear bombs' detonations, but surely she could have chosen a more...diplomatic way of saying it. It didn't slip her notice that both boys' hands immediately cupped their groins, as if worried that she might inflict further damage on them.

"Regardless of that, mother has a few more instructions. Aveline, mother-Lucille wants you to remain behind to make sure that the boys are taking their medicine. You are also staying behind, Astoria,"

"But why?" asked the younger Greengrass, pouting in a way that was likely supposed to be cute. Not that it would work on Daphne, of course; she had seen it far too often to have any effect whatsoever. "I want to go! I'm bored of staying in this vault. I miss the green fields, the sun, the wind-"

"Astoria. Behave," Daphne warned her sister. Astoria gave an indignant 'harrumph!' and crossed her arms, but otherwise said no more. "Well, if we are going, then perhaps we should wash ourselves first. Let us go,"

Once they had all washed up and eaten breakfast, the kids slowly filtered into the Overseer's Office. Both Mr. and Mrs. Davis were already inside, as was Persephone. The lights in the room were out, and the light-and-image machine - a projector - was already displaying something on the whitewashed wall of the room.

A map of London. One that seemed to have been taken from the sky, somehow. How the Muggles had managed it, Daphne could not understand; while it was neither animated nor produced sound, the detail that Muggle photographs had was invariably far better than the best magical methods could produce. Though in this case, she couldn't tell why gigantic red circles had been drawn over the map.

"Ah, good. You are all here. Please, have a seat," Amanda spoke curtly, motioning towards the unoccupied metal seats at the back.

"As you are all well aware, a disaster has struck London three weeks ago. One that bathed the entire city in nuclear fire, and drove us underground to survive. I have been working day and night to restore communications as well as gather more information about the state of the world above ground. And what I have discovered...is not good,"

She pointed towards the map. "This is a map of London, as it was in January, 2077. Each red circle indicates the area destroyed by a _single_ nuclear bomb, where survival rates are expected to be near zero for unprotected victims,"

Daphne frowned grimly as she traced each circle with her eyes. So many of them. And most intersected with one another.

"Surely our war wards would have held?" Persephone said with a shrug. "The Ministry of Magic likely still stands. It must stand. Just as it has withstood the worst of what the Muggles could throw at us for the last five hundred years,"

Amanda eyed her critically. "If you mean the buildings, then yes, they still stand. Despite the fact that a nuclear bomb had somehow detonated within twenty metres of its front door in front of the British Ministry of Magic in Whitehall Road, the building still stands wholly intact,"

Persephone puffed up proudly, believing that her belief in the supremacy of magic over technology was vindicated. Yet given the scientist's unwavering glare, it seemed that not everything was at all in order.

"But if you meant the Ministry of Magic, as the assembly of wizards and witches that govern all of magical Britain? I am sorry to say, but I have little doubt that neither the non-magical government nor the magical government of Britain have survived the nuclear exchange. I hacked into a security camera that was present at a checkpoint in London and sent it to record images and conditions above ground. I must warn you all; what I saw in Kings' Cross was rather...gruesome. If any of you wish to leave the room while I go through these, you may do so,"

Not a single person moved. All of them were intrigued by what exactly the scientist had found above ground that was so horrifying.

"This...is Kings' Cross. Immediately before the bombs fell," she murmured quietly. Not a single person breathed as they witnessed the security feed. One moment, there were hundreds - if not thousands - of people, going about their business as they went in and out of the train station. Men, women and children, wandering about without thinking anything was happening. The next, the images trembled and shook uncontrollably as the first of the shockwaves hit London. Every person on the sidewalks tumbled to the ground; cars skidded and slammed into each other as concrete and asphalt rippled and cracked; and slabs of concrete and glass began to crumble off the sides of buildings.

The girls all gasped in horror as they saw what came next. In a flash of cataclysmic heat that turned the black-and-white video just barely visible, flesh and skin vaporised into ash in an instant. Clothes were set ablaze mere seconds before they, too, disintegrated to nothingness; the colourful paint on cars, buses and motorcycles all burned away in clouds of black cinders. That was, immediately before they exploded in gouts of flame and shards of metal.

By the end of the recording, only skeletons lay on the scorched roads, their bones bleached white by the incredible heat of the bombs.

"Stop," choked out Astoria. Spinning around, she noticed that her younger sister was sobbing profusely into Aveline's shoulder, while her friend was doing her best to comfort her in whatever way she could. "Why are you showing us these...these pictures?"

"To give you all a vision of what has happened above ground," Amanda spoke solemnly. "Life as we know it has ended. The world above has burned to ash, leaving little behind. That is the truth of what has happened above in London, and likely over all Britain,"

"But that's the end of it, isn't it?" Persephone said dismissively. "A Muggle weapon that incinerates a large swath of land and buildings? Ending the world? Piffle. Plants have always grown back from scorching flames. Ash is nothing but fertiliser for what is to come,"

"What is to come?" asked the scientist, raising an eyebrow curiously. There was an odd gleam in the woman's eyes.

"Why, with the Muggles virtually exterminated, we could rebuild society as it was meant to be. With magicals at the very top," she chuckled darkly.

"You sound a lot like Malfoy," commented Harry, who had a wand firmly in his grip. Neville was also glaring at the former Lady Greengrass with barely veiled mistrust and suspicion. "He was always saying things about blood supremacy in Hogwarts,"

"I had thought the rumours about the Potters being blood traitors were just that. Rumours. But to hear it with my own ears?" laughed Persephone coldly. "It shames me to think that they were true. Your father marrying a mudblood was bad enough-"

A distinct click came from Amanda. She held an oddly blocky silver pistol in her hands, looking at it wistfully as she checked it over. The barrel of the weapon held an ominous green glow; the same as the Killing Curse, and that of the Sentry Bots patrolling the hallway. "You will mind your manners while inside _my_ house, Lady Greengrass. At least your daughter has proven that she is capable of that courtesy," she said icily. "Especially as _guests_ of mine, as your daughter has iterated during your first day, if you must be reminded,"

"Threatening a guest is hardly how a host should act," she sneered, her eyes never leaving the weapon.

"Threatening? Do you see me pointing this pistol in your direction?" deadpanned Amanda. "No, not at all. I am merely reminding you of your obligations while under my roof. Should you find these too onerous, you are free to leave the vault. Though I daresay that what I will show you next will make you change your opinion,"

She tapped the projector again. The scene switched to another location; judging by Persephone's wide eyes, she realised exactly where it was.

And so did Daphne. And Neville. Any pureblood heir or heiress raised properly would recognise that red telephone booth that has always stood on Whitehall Road.

"That is correct, Persephone. This particular camera was set up directly opposite _my official workplace._ The British Ministry of Defence. And do not think for a moment that I do not know where that red telephone booth leads. Dialling '62442', or 'Magic', would take me to your Ministry of Magic. Fifteen metres below ground at that location, to be exact,"

All colour drained from Persephone's face after Amanda's declaration. "How...how did you know?" she asked weakly.

"Let us simply say that your so-called Statute of Secrecy has many loopholes in it, and that I have my own sources of information. Not that it matters any more, given what you are about to see next. You see, like many other magical buildings, it appears to have survived the initial blast wave and the immense radiation pulse that a nuclear detonation causes. However, you older magic-wielders appear so arrogant as to assume that nothing non-magical could ever harm you,"

Nothing seemed to happen for a couple of minutes as everything sped past on 'fast-forward'. Which, to Daphne's eyes, was simply a way of speeding up time in the video. Then, after the third and final wave of flashes and earthquakes, Amanda slowed it down.

Ministry of Magic employees began to emerge from the telephone booth. At first, they stood about in stunned shock at the immense destruction all around them. Then, as they stepped out of the booth, something strange happened. At first, it was only a wizard that stumbled about as though he was drunk. A witch followed suit, clinging weakly to the remnants of a lamppost in an effort to remain standing, while clutching her head and apparently screaming in agony. Both soon collapsed to the ground, twitching uncontrollably. Their three companions, who were likewise struggling to stand, soon succumbed to the very same issues. One of them appeared to be vomiting before he also tumbled to the ground in a heap.

The very same event happened with the various employees that emerged after them. Until by the time people stopped coming out of the booth, there was quite a huge pile of dead or dying wizards and witches strewn about the single red booth.

It was safe to say that everyone in the room with the exception of Lucille and Amanda were utterly horrified. Astoria was so distraught that Aveline had to escort her out of the room, while Zoe had to do the same with Hermione.

"Zese are telltale symptoms of acute radiation poisoning," Lucille said sorrowfully. "Ze brain is rendered incapable of proper function. Tremors, seizures, lethargy. Vomiting is also a certainty, if one is not immediately incapacitated,"

"You know what is causing these? And you aren't saving them?" demanded an outraged Persephone.

"Zat is because zey are beyond saving, madame. We...we 'ave performed extensive tests on subjects of radiation poisoning of zis magnitude. Usually on workers of nuclear power plants who have been exposed to ze fuel rods wizout protective equipment. It is...invariably fatal. Even if prompt medical care is administered, death will follow in twenty-four hours at most as ze body begins to decompose itself. Mon amour, what is ze current radiation level outside, if you are able to retrieve zat?"

"Let me see," Amanda murmured, typing away on her computer terminal. "The sensors outside the Ministry of Defence are reading one hundred grays per second, or about ten thousand rads per second. And that is only because the Geiger counter cannot register any higher values,"

Daphne had little idea about what that meant; but given how Lucille had bowed her head and uttered a prayer under her breath spoke volumes about how dire the situation was outside.

"Mon dieu. At zat level of radiation, no protection zat we 'ave would offer _any_ effect. What about ozzer locations?"

"The Westminster underground platform is reading only five micrograys per second. As is Lancaster underground,"

"So it appears to be somewhat safe underground. Zough if zat remains true for long remains to be seen,"

"Then you must let the employees at the Ministry of Magic know that it is certain death to step outside!"

However, Amanda simply regarded Persephone with disapproval. "No. I will not," she replied simply.

That had definitely set off her mother. Daphne flinched as Persephone stood up from her seat, wand clenched in her fist. She tried to tower over the copper-haired scientist in an attempt to intimidate her. A rather futile attempt, given that Amanda was most certainly taller than she was by a good three inches, and the attempt to stand on the very tips of her long-toed boots simply made her ridiculous.

"And if you think that intimidation will work on myself, you are gravely mistaken, Lady Greengrass. I have spent the better part of my life under men that are infinitely more imposing than you are," she spoke coldly. Both women were exchanging furious glares at each other. "Now, as you appear to be wanting _reasons_ why I cannot do so, you only need to look in the corner, behind the plastic potted plant,"

There was a tiny fireplace in the corner, barely large enough to fit a head. There was no flue, no wood, no flame in it; not even the tiniest scrap of ash. It was as though it had never been used to heat the room - or even been intended to do so. Yet, perched above its minuscule mantelpiece, was a jar containing an all too familiar glittering green powder.

"A Floo jar and a fireplace? In a Muggle location?" spoke Persephone dumbly. "Is this a joke?"

"Not at all. That is...or was...indeed a fireplace with a fully functional Floo connection. Though I will admit that greasing the palms of your officials to have this installed anonymously was quite expensive,"

In a flash, Daphne's mother had dashed to the fireplace and taken a fistful of the Floo powder. Far more than anyone would ever need to perform a normal Floo call. "Gringotts!" she called out, while dropping the powder onto the fireplace.

Silence.

Nothing had happened.

"Gringotts!" she shouted again, after dropping yet another pinch of powder.

"If you have forgotten, _Lady Greengrass_ , the main foyer of Gringotts has been completely destroyed by an nuclear warhead's concussive blast. As have most other fireplaces in Britain, I would wager. You have to be very specific in order to get anywhere," Amanda tutted condescendingly. She took a pinch of Floo powder and threw it in. "Gringotts London, Sublevel Foyer!"

The tiny fireplace immediately burst to life with the vivid viridian flames of a Floo call. They could hear various voices on the other side; some angry, some wailing, and others simply despondent. Eventually, a goblin's head appeared in the flames. He wore his hair in thick black dreadlocks, into which golden rings were woven. His brows were furrowed in a deep frown. "Yes?" he spoke gruffly. "Gringotts is currently closed-oh. You're Dr. Flynn, aren't you? The one that spoke with Ragnok?"

"Indeed I am, mister goblin. May your enemies fall before you as wheat to a scythe, and your gold ever flow,"

"A Muggle that knows our customs better than most witches! King Ragnok was right, you are an interesting one," he snorted in surprise. "And may your enemies' heads decorate your walls, and your vaults fill with their gold, Dr. Flynn. I am Teller Sharpclaw. I fear that Gringotts is not in a state where it is able to render its services at the moment,"

The next expression that the goblin wore earned looks of shock from all of the magicals in the room. Never did Daphne think that a goblin would _plead_ and _beg_ , let alone to a Muggle! Yet what the goblin said next was exactly that. "If I could ask-no, if I could beg of you a favour. My children have been struck down by some sort of fever, and our supplies of medicine are running low. The vials of medicine that you've sent to us are the only things that have worked so far, but even those are nearly empty,"

"And that is what King Ragnok VII has asked of me last night. I have prepared supplies to take to Gringotts, but I will need some time to get there. The fireplace that I have been able to...ah... _acquire_ from the wizards has proven quite inadequate. If I could fit through here, I would be glad to render assistance immediately. Alas, I believe that it would be at least a four hour walk through the sewers,"

The goblin bowed his head in sorrow. "I don't think my son has four hours. Please, Dr. Flynn. Surely there is something small that you can give now?"

"I'll take over from here, mon amour," said Lucille softly. She crouched down beside Amanda, looking into the goblin's eyes. "I am Dr. Laurent, monsieur. Please, describe your son's symptoms in detail. A fever, per'aps? Vomiting? Liquid excrement?"

The goblin nodded. "Merde," cursed Lucille, "'Ave you sent someone above ground?"

"Yes! My son was part of the scouting team that we sent up into the main foyer to examine the damage. Every one of them that has managed to return have fallen ill!"

"Do not let anyone else go outside!" Amanda barked out. "That is an order! Seal the doors, and make sure that it is airtight! Pile as much gold, lead or steel against it if you can, and stay there! Lucille, are the medicinal supplies prepared?"

The vault's resident healer nodded fervently. "Oui. Fifty doses of radiation purging chemicals, an equal number of radioisotope binders, and one hundred Blood-Replenishing Potions. I always carry one on myself at all times, in case of an accident. 'Ere, administer zis to your son, Teller Sharpclaw. Insert the needle into the vein on his wrist, and the pouch will do ze rest,"

"That will simply hold off the worst of the illness temporarily. Teller Sharpclaw, would it be fair to assume that Gringotts has a subterranean entrance? A connection to the London sewers, perhaps?"

"I do not know, but I will ask. If it will help save our sick, I am certain someone knows!" he declared. Moments later, he returned with a map on a sheet of yellowing parchment. "The map is old, but one of the elder scouts said that this should still be accurate. There is a connection to a main sewer under Charing Cross. Please hurry,"

"I will, Teller Sharpclaw. Have someone unseal the grate, but make sure it is still well-guarded. I have little information about what may lurk down there,"

"Deep Ones watch your steps, goblin-friend,"

The Floo connection dropped as the last of the Floo powder burned itself out. Taking a deep breath, Amanda straightened up. Only to raise an eyebrow as she took in the awestruck looks that Neville and Daphne were giving her.

"What? Do I have ash in my hair or on my face?" she snapped irritably. "I do not care! If you are coming with us, put on the radiation hazard suits from the armoury! Orianna, get the suit of power armour-"

"WHAT?! We have POWER ARMOUR and you didn't tell us?!" yelled Zoe, looking aghast.

"Yes, two suits of old Centurion Mark IIIs. Nothing as good as the Mark VIIs that the soldiers in the Middle East were issued before the bombs dropped. And unless you want to be scrubbing the latrines for a week - yes, even if it is already gleaming thanks to Dipsy - you will do as I order. Do I make myself clear, Zoe?"

"Yes, mother-in-chief,"

"That is COLONEL FLYNN to you while we are on this excursion! What are you all standing around for? Double time, move it to the armoury! Go, go, go!"

* * *

A/N:

The world above has ceased to exist, magical and mundane alike, and yet pure-blood supremacy beliefs are still rampant. The goblins, saved by their subterranean living preferences, can no longer rely on shipments of required supplies from above ground. Alliances will be forged, and a new order should emerge! Stay tuned for more.

Vampirelord101:

I have answered this in a PM, but in case anybody else asks the same question, I will answer this again here. Harry is certainly in this story, AS A SIDE CHARACTER. What good is a fanfiction that creates a whole new world, if we simply reiterate the same storyline as canon? What is even the point of rehashing a fully established character's personality, dialogue and plot problems? There is none. To use Harry as a main character presents a double problem: not altering his personality makes him both onerous to write, and a hazard for when he is written incorrectly (OMG YOU HEATHEN AUTHOR, Y U NO WRITE HARRY LIKE ORIGINAL HARRY?!1oneone). Making him radically different essentially transforms him into an OC wearing the name of a major character, at which point I question the need to use his name at all.

No. It is best to stick to side characters with plenty of character development potential over those that are already established, or create new ones. Less hassle either way.

Also, if you are fed up with people writing Harry Potter stories without Harry Potter in it, you only need to set your filters correctly. This story, as you may have noticed, does not even have Harry Potter as a listed main character. Which means that I neither aim to, nor have an obligation to, write Harry in as a main character. If it bothers you so much, then I suggest that you write your own story with Harry in it.


	5. Preparing for the Future

Being shouted at by the normally-calm Dr. Flynn did wonders to get the girls into gear. Suited up in the thick and heavy yellow rubber suits within a record five minutes, Daphne found herself waiting outside the vault beside Orianna. She couldn't help but feel a sense of security as she stood behind the gigantic, hulking suit of heavy armour plates and some sort of mechanical 'muscle' that they called 'hydraulic actuators'. The plates looked thick enough to absorb even the strongest blasting curses that she herself could throw. Its helmet was in the shape of a proud eagle, with its pitch-black lenses rounding off a thoroughly intimidating look.

"So, Aveline is staying behind?" Daphne asked.

"Yes. Partly to keep Astoria company, and partly because mother feels that someone needs to make sure that the boys are taking their radiation medicine," Orianna replied. The suit's helmet filters were giving her voice an oddly distorted cast, which made it quite difficult to understand what she was saying. "Are you sure that you want to come along for this? It is quite a long walk,"

Daphne nodded. "Absolutely. I want to see for myself the actual effects of this...radiation,"

Orianna seemed to regard her with thinly-veiled skepticism. Did she truly think her incapable of engaging in a walk, no matter how long it was? "Well, if you are certain. It _is_ quite a long walk,"

* * *

A long walk was the understatement of the century. How the Muggles had managed to carve out the miles and miles of dark, narrow sewer tunnels, the blonde young lady did not know - and did not wish to know. If it was not for the air-filtration gear in the hot and sticky yellow rubber suit she was wearing, she imagined the stench that would be wafting off the greenish-brown muck in the trench below and nearly retched.

Come to think of it, she had never imagined sewage to be...well, _green_. And certainly not _glowing_ , either, no matter how faintly. The wrist-mounted device on Amanda's wrist was also emitting an ominous ticking noise, which seemed to grow quicker the closer she was to the disgusting liquids that seemed to drip and seep down from all the holes and pipes around the tunnel.

"It's a good thing that Aveline, Astoria nor the boys chose to come with us," muttered Orianna as she kicked down yet another sewer grate. The suit of 'powered infantry armour', as the Flynn matriarch called it, allowed her daughter to perform truly terrifying feats of strength. She may have been strong enough to beat down Marcus Flint with a single well-placed punch to the gut in Hogwarts; but not once had she ever thought of seeing someone literally kick down welded steel grates with about as much effort as one would put into cracking open an egg. "This is quite a long walk,"

"And one that is not helped by the constant detours," Amanda added. Her wrist device was giving off so many clicks that it sounded much like an angry rattlesnake. "The path up ahead is unsafe," declared the scientist. As if they even _needed_ a device to tell them that, given the way that the sickly green slime ahead was as luminous as the brightest _Lumos_ that any of the witches in their group could cast. "There appears to be an alternative path to the right-wait, did you see something move there?"

Daphne squinted, trying to make out whatever it is that Amanda was pointing at in the middle of the green slime. She gasped in shock when something _did_ move underneath all the goo. A human. Or at least something with a humanoid shape. It was slowly rising to its feet, the slime dripping off its body. Its clothes, the only part of it that was not glowing a sickly green, were virtually scorched off, with only scant tatters about its waist and thighs. Its upper body had nothing but half-rotted flesh where it was not glowing, which seemed to be rotting away and sloughing off, only to regrow almost as quickly as it had fallen off.

A feeling of dread and unease washed over Daphne. This thing - whatever it was - greatly resembled her father's descriptions of an Inferi. Did a dark wizard somehow perform the dark ritual to reanimate a corpse?

"Orianna. Daphne. Zoe. Weapons at the ready," whispered Amanda. She unholstered the strange blocky pistol from her hip and aimed it straight at the creature. "British Army! Do not move!" she shouted, flicking on the light under her weapon.

The only reply she received was a low, rattling groan. The Inferi-like creature turned about and stared blankly at them. It shuffled slowly to the side, towards Orianna; shambling about unsteadily on its decaying legs, until-

"ORIANNA! WATCH OUT!" Amanda yelled. It lunged with a feral snarl towards her daughter at blinding speeds. Orianna, caught by surprise, only barely managed to block the creature's furious blow with the forearm plate of her armoured suit. "TAKE IT DOWN!"

"Stupefy! Stupefy!"

"Petrificus Totalus! Incarcerous!"

Whatever effect that Daphne or Zoe were expecting, this definitely was not it. The creature's glowing hide simply caused the spells to fizzle harmlessly. It wasn't until Orianna decided to kick its legs out from under it that it was rendered harmless, scrabbling about aimlessly on the ground with shattered knees. And even without its lower legs and leaking its luminous blood from the stumps, it _still_ tried to claw at the nearest person. A futile attempt that was ended by a blast of green energy from Amanda's pistol, which blasted its head apart.

"Orianna, are you alright?"

"Affirmative. Only superficial damage to the suit's paint," the girl replied, inspecting her suit's arm. Sure enough, there was a gouge in the paint, though the silvery gleam of polished steel shone from beneath, flecked by little bits of eerily glowing green. "Though I think that this suit might need decontamination. Zoe, a little help?"

"Scourgify," Zoe intoned, giving her wand a flick. Thick white soapy foam immediately engulfed the power armour's arm, scrubbing away the green muck that had stuck to it. "I think that did it. Mother-in-chief, what _is_ that thing?"

"It...appears to be a...'uman," murmured Lucille in awe, as she poked and prodded at the corpse with a scrap of steel. "Or razzer, _was_ one. What 'orrific mutations. I did not for a moment zink that such a thing was even possible,"

"Was this...this thing...created by this...radish?"

"Radiation. And it appear so, Daphne. We shall 'ave to take a few samples of it on the return trip, so that Amanda may examine it more thoroughly in our laboratory,"

Fortunately, there was not much further to go from the tunnel filled with the green glowing sludge. A few more broken steel grates, and a few more holes-in-walls, and they had finally come to a narrow tunnel where several goblin guards were posted. They raised their weapons, goblin silver arms glinting in the dim torchlight, and stomped loudly on the stone-lined floor while their warning bellows thundered through the tunnel. "State your business! You are on Gringotts property!" one of them shouted.

"Colonel Amanda Flynn, British Army Medical Research Corps! I am here to provide assistance, as requested by King Ragnok the Seventh!"

Their shoulders relaxed slightly, though their weapons still remained up. "Approach slowly and make no sudden moves. We will see if your claim is true,"

Daphne had never been in the lower parts of Gringotts before. Most wizards had only been permitted to visit the upper floors, unless they were retrieving something from their vaults in person. Gilded and silvered marble tiles gleamed on the floor of the lower foyer, kept clean by some unknown enchantment; gigantic bronze busts of bygone goblin heroes glinted in the light cast by the crystal chandeliers hanging overhead; and various blades, axes, maces and other weapons of goblin silver hung from the display cases on the walls, each one made of intricately-forged gold and silver.

If she had visited it on a normal day, she would have been awed by the exorbitant wealth that the goblins held. But after seeing the death and devastation on the surface, she could only see the decaying trappings of a decadent, doomed society on its last legs. Especially when one could see the numerous bodies lining both sides of the hallway, each one draped with a white funeral shroud.

"Take off your masks and helmets, girls," Amanda instructed them. She had taken her own armoured helmet off, looking no worse for wear after the long walk. Lucille was likewise doing the same, though she was wiping as much grime and sweat from her face as she could. "Cool off before you are affected by hyperthermia,"

"Hyperthermia?" Daphne asked, unfamiliar with the term.

"Overheating," Zoe answered him. "Trust me, feeling too hot is not a good thing. Say, Mister Goblin, you wouldn't mind if I conjured some water, would you? I'm burning up in this suit,"

"Hmph. Go right ahead, witch," the surly goblin nearest to the brash redhead answered with a shrug. Nodding gratefully, Zoe conjured a jet of cold water, spraying her face quite liberally while moaning in relief. "God, that feels _great_. These suits are soooo hot,"

"Could you also do that for me, ma cherie?" Lucille asked, cupping her hands together and holding them out. A couple of splashes of water later, she looked much more refreshed. "Merci,"

"How is it that you are not overheated, Orianna?" Daphne asked. She had cast a burst of cold air from her wand rather than water, thinking that it would be much cleaner and quicker than spraying water everywhere.

"Power armour suits are air conditioned. I thought you all had put cooling charms on your suits?" answered the humourless triplet with a shrug. "Though really, should we be having this discussion right now? I thought our objective was to deliver medical aid to the goblins affected by radiation poisoning,"

"Yes, of course. If you could please lead the way to where the sick are, master goblin, it would be much appreciated,"

Down a twisting staircase, through a broad corridor, and down yet another spiral staircase. Every floor that they descended, there seemed to be even more glittering gold and gems encrusting everything that they walked on or could touch. In fact, by the time that the goblins finally took them to Gringotts' throne room, Daphne was certain that it was all solid gold and silver.

"May your axe run red with your enemies' blood and your coffers overflow with their gold, King Ragnok," Amanda said as she entered the room. "Alas, I would curtsy if it was possible with my current gear,"

"There is no need for that, goblin-friend," the ancient, wizened goblin on the throne boomed out. His thunderous voice was certainly at odds with his rather frail-seeming form. "May your purse ever be full, and your sword cleave through your foes' entrails. I am glad that you have come in our hour of need, Dr. Flynn. We had almost lost all hope for the sick, and our healers cannot identify what is wrong with them,"

"Time is short. I need my wi- _partner_ -to look at them. The sooner, the more likely they are to recover fully,"

He nodded and barked out an order to the other goblins, who directed them to a series of bedrolls on the side of the hall. As Daphne edged closer to the sick, retching goblins, she pinched her nose closed at the putrid stench of blood and excrement that reeked from them. Their bedrolls were stained a dark brownish-red, and puddles of faintly-glowing vomit started to _melt_ their way into the floor. When Amanda walked within five metres of the nearest goblin, her wrist-computer started to emit a loud series of pops. Her eyes widened in alarm as the popping grew to a loud rattling as she touched one of the goblins.

"Get away from them!" she ordered the goblin attendants, who quickly hurried away. Tentatively, she touched the next ill goblin, who also caused the very same rattling noise. "King Ragnok," she said, after taking a deep breath to steady herself. "How long ago were they sent out above ground, and for how long? And where?"

"Seven hours ago, we sent out our scouts...and they have been ill for the past three and a half hours. They were to determine what had occurred above ground,"

"So approximately three and a half hours of exposure, in a moderately irradiated location. What were they wearing? Could I have an example?"

A goblin guard nearby shrugged and took off his pauldron, handing it to Amanda. Putting it between her device and the sick goblin, she slowly brought her wrist-computer closer, just as she had done before. The popping, while not quite as rapid, was still rather quick. "Halved intensity. This material is somewhat resistant to radiation," she commented, returning the pauldron to the guard. "Lucille, your thoughts?"

"Well, ze first thing zat I would like is for their clothing to be removed, and a bucket of clean water to wash them with," Lucille answered. She had already slipped on her anti-radiation mask once more, as if worried about exposure. "And if possible, dispose of their clothing. In ze deepest garbage deposit zat is available, far away from everyone,"

A thunderous uproar filled the entire throne room. Many of the goblins brandished their weapons and snarled loudly at them, as if they had committed some grave insult. Daphne glanced around fearfully. She had been taught how to behave well in front of well-bred _humans_ , not goblins! Surely disposing of old clothes couldn't be an offence to them?

"SILENCE!" roared Ragnok, forcing the assembled goblins to calm down again. Though just barely. "Dr. Flynn. I trust that there is reason behind your...wife's insulting words? A goblin does not simply throw away the armour he has used for battle for dozens of years. It is a mark of honour to hold on to,"

"The radiation residue is on them. If they had been that long above ground, the radioactive ash from the nuclear bombs would have contaminated their gear," Amanda replied. When the goblin king looked back with no inkling of understanding in his eyes, she explained, "There is poison on their equipment. One that is invisible and undetectable through magical means,"

"I see. Guards! Have the sick ones stripped of their armour, but do not discard them. If they are truly poisoned, then keep them where nobody can touch them!"

"Zank you, Your 'Ighness. I shall do my best to treat zem, zough I fear for the worst," Lucille said.

After three hours of purging radiation from the sick goblins, repeatedly removing their blood and replenishing it with copious amounts of Blood-Replenishing Potions and injecting them with some rather strange Muggle medicines that appeared to induce a ravenous thirst, Lucille finally flopped down on the supply crate that they had brought along, completely exhausted. Five of the twenty-four that had been sick had succumbed to their illnesses, burning up with fever and crying out incoherently as they died in terrible pain. The others, however, seemed to be breathing far more easily, and appeared to be sleeping soundly.

"Zere. It is done," she huffed, removing her radiation suit's headpiece and wiping down her sweaty brow. "I am sorry zat I could not save more. Ze radiation exposure had been too much for them. Zeir vital organs had decomposed far too much to be saved,"

Ragnok looked tight-lipped as he regarded the five new burial shrouds in the corner of his throne room. "Killed by illness. An illness that we could not cure, but you could," he murmured, "A poison, you say? I will hear all that you know about it! How did it come to be? How does it work? And how do you produce the cure?"

And thus Lucille explained everything that she knew about radiation sickness. To say that the goblins had been utterly horrified by its effect would have been an understatement. Doubly so after Lucille had mentioned that it was a poison that penetrated everything. Behind walls, under the earth; through stone, water, flame and air. A poison that flooded living creatures and inanimate objects alike. Liquid, solid or gas - it didn't matter one bit.

"And this poison...was created by Muggles?" breathed Ragnok, slumping back in his throne despondently. "All this time we had feared and loathed wizardkind so, and yet it seems that we had feared the wrong humans. Such a terrifying poison, created without magic..."

He ranted awhile about the deadly effects of radiation, though soon he came to another realisation. "Diagon Alley. It was a bustling street, full of wizards and witches. And yet, when our scouts reported its condition, they mentioned that there was not a living soul to be found anywhere. Only shadows burned into the ground, and collapsed buildings that had burned nearly to the ground. I know for certain that we goblins were the ones to construct most of the buildings in it, and no earthquake could have caused that kind of destruction. At least a few bodies would have been found. Was this another one of the Muggle weapons?"

"I'm afraid that the earthquakes and the destruction of Diagon Alley were both inflicted by the same weapon, King Ragnok. As is the spread of the radioactive poison that now covers most of London," Amanda replied quietly. "On October 23, 2077, the nations of Europe - no, the entire _world_ \- began an exchange of nuclear hellfire. That was what caused the destruction of Diagon Alley, and started the spread of the poison throughout the world. From what information that I am able to gather, the surface is essentially lifeless. In fact, it is impossible to venture outside for long without receiving fatal doses of radiation,"

"And my clan-siblings that are poisoned?"

"I...fear this will not be easy to hear. They will not be able to reproduce. Lucille has treated them to the best of her ability, and even she cannot reverse all the damage that has been caused,"

"Zey will live. I give you my word," Lucille added with an emphatic nod.

"Very regrettable that they cannot father new younglings. But at least they can still serve with distinction as guards. Still, what of the wizards? Have you found any more information about what has happened to them?"

"I believe that the British Ministry of Magic, as well as the non-magical government of Britain, have both collapsed. Unless anyone has found shelter deep underground, the chances of survival are nearly zero, thanks to radiation poisoning. That is not to mention the complete destruction of all infrastructure. Food, water and medicine will be nearly impossible to acquire," replied the scientist. "To put it simply, we may be the last ones left alive in all of London, unless others also have structures such as this one, and have stockpiled food, drink and medicine,"

Ragnok let out an uncharacteristic bark of vindictive laughter. "So it seems that the backstabbing wizards have finally paid their debts in death. The Muggle weapons have already done something that we could not for the past five hundred years,"

Daphne could not take it any longer. "Excuse me? _Backstabbing wizards_?!" she snarled, "The goblins _rebelled_ against wizardkind! At least thirty times over the past five hundred years!"

She stood firm, even as the goblins muttered mutinously around her. The heiress-no, the _Lady_ of an Ancient and Noble House should never show fear in the face of possible danger. Even if her heart was pounding in her chest, feeling as though it would tear through her ribs at any given moment - she could not for a moment show any weakness. An insult to her person was a grave one that demanded satisfaction. An insult to all witches and wizards throughout Britain? It was a crime that demanded vengeance.

Ragnok moved slightly, and Daphne stiffened, ready to snatch up her wand if he did so much as go for his sword. He, however, simply held up his hand and regarded her with a dismissive sneer. "You might have come with the goblin-friend, Dr. Flynn, her wife, and her children, Lady Greengrass. But that does not excuse you from hurling such a grievous _insult_ against all goblins. Right in front of myself, no less!"

"Please, King Ragnok-"

"No, Dr. Flynn. You know the goblin way. Each person is accountable for his or her own actions. Now, then, Lady Greengrass. Answer my question. What makes you _think_ that it is possible for goblins to _rebel_ against humans?"

She knew this all too well. "The Subjugation Treaty of 1523," replied Daphne confidently. "You were defeated by the warlocks and hit-witches of Britain,"

A peal of mocking laughter filled the throne room. Including that of King Ragnok, who was loudest of them all. "Now that is an answer worthy of a foolish witch who believes everything that she hears or reads! A Subjugation Treaty? Perhaps that of _wizardkind_ , and not goblinkind, if one was ever signed. Do you know the first thing about goblin culture, Lady Greengrass?"

Daphne remained silent. She couldn't answer this one. As much as Professor Binns went on and on and on about the Goblin Rebellions, he certainly did not teach much else about goblin culture.

"We are, first and foremost, a warrior race. Oh, we love gold, that is for sure. But if someone were to threaten us with _war_ , there is only one truth to us. We will return with our shield - or upon them," Ragnok spoke, with a proud sneer on his face. "A goblin that surrenders is no goblin. We would rather see the last of our kind die than to suffer the indignity of a surrender. And here we are, still proudly standing after centuries alongside wizards. I assure you that we have never lost a war against humans. So I'll ask you again, Lady Greengrass. What makes you _think_ that it is possible for goblins to rebel against humans?"

Trying her hardest to go over all the little scraps of information that she could still remember from History of Magic, Daphne pondered about what exactly could have triggered them to do so. Gold, perhaps? But they had long had a history of handling wizards' and witches' gold, as well as their own. Blood? They seemed more likely to duel and kill the supposed offender. Land, perhaps? That would not make sense, given that they simply tunnelled underground for more room to expand.

"I don't know," she replied quietly, feeling rather humiliated.

Strangely enough, the goblins around her sheathed their weapons again, though their angry glares were still upon her. Stranger still, King Ragnok was _clapping._ Clapping, with a truly amused smirk on his wrinkled lips.

"There we go. The truth was not so hard to handle, was it now? You don't know. And I would wager that most wizards do not know the truth either," he said. "We goblins live long lives. We never forget a slight. And we certainly do not forget _any_ agreements that we have made in the past. The truth is, there was never such a treaty ever made. A ceasefire, yes, between the goblins of the Kingdom of Gringotts and an extinct merchant house in Liverpool, but nothing more than that. So, as that is the case, it is legally _impossible_ for us to be in rebellion against the people of Wizarding Britain as we are not their subjects, is it not?"

"...Yes," Daphne conceded bitterly. She hated being wrong - and worse yet, she hated being lied to. Disinformation was something she loathed greatly, as long as she was the one affected by it. She had to admit that what the goblin king said seemed entirely possible, and made quite a bit of sense when she thought about it. It couldn't be possible that they were rebelling against the Ministry when the Ministry itself was founded in the early eighteenth century.

"The thirty or so conflicts that you have mentioned were, to put it mildly, punitive expeditions by the goblin nation against your Ministry of Magic. Time and again, your people borrowed our gold to finance your arrogant exploits, your extravagant lifestyles, and your grandiose projects. And just as often, your people failed to return the gold and the agreed interest on time. And rather than negotiating an extension of your loans, your people always saw it more expedient to try and refuse our rightful claims to that gold. Many times, we have contemplated destroying the Ministry of Magic and unrepentant debtors once and for all, I assure you. It would truly have been less trouble for our...debt collectors,"

Debt collectors. Daphne bit back a furious retort. Debt collection could have simply been for gold, jewels or other valuables - but goblin 'debt collectors' wanted a pound of flesh from those that they felt owed them gold. Literally. Dither a little too much, make one too many excuses, and a team of 'debt collectors' would take their due forcibly. More than a few of her ancestors had their debts 'collected' by the goblins, who took their payment in blood and flesh, with invariably fatal results.

"However, every time we considered such an option, there was always the case of goblin-friends walking among your people. Those who treated us fairly, conducted business justly, and saw us as equals. We could not go against our ancient laws and harm them, and thus your Ministry was spared. Many, many times. Until now, I suppose. If what Dr. Flynn says is true, and your Ministry has ceased to exist, then we are at a point where all debts and grudges can be considered...settled,"

"So where does that leave us?" Amanda asked.

The old goblin king stroked his beard thoughtfully. "You mentioned that both the government of Muggle Britain and the Ministry are both destroyed. This means that proper governance no longer exists, and that the Kingdom of Gringotts is no longer fettered by the treaties that prevent us from expanding above ground, just as we have done in ancient times. Yet this invisible poison that plagues the surface makes it impossible to do so, and by the sounds of it has also destroyed anything valuable above the ground. The great disaster has also destroyed much of Gringotts' infrastructure, as well as killed many of my clan brothers and sisters. Though we have survived the destruction, the Kingdom of Gringotts is but a shadow of its former self,"

"Perhaps we could create a new society. One of equals, instead of some old prejudiced concepts of superiority," offered Amanda hopefully. "The old world has been scorched clean. We have a chance for a fresh start, without old grudges in the way. It would be more productive for both of us if we were to work together on rebuilding, than to stand stubbornly alone. To create a world where goblin, human or other magical sapients could live in peace and prosperity,"

Ragnok hummed thoughtfully. "What you say does have some merit. It has become somewhat tiresome to recover our debts from the wizards and witches, and it is even more vexing to us that the more we try to reclaim our rightful wealth, the more difficult it becomes to purchase what we require from the surface world. Perhaps it is time to engage in cooperation. You have, after all, proven the benefits of that thus far. You have come to help us when the wizards and witches would not; and for that, Gringotts owes you a great debt,"

"Thank you, King Ragnok, but I have done exactly as any good person should, and that is assist a fellow person in need," she answered warmly, nodding once. If Daphne was not imagining things, there was the slightest curl in the corner of her lips, nearly imperceptible. Was she...planning something? "Future co-operation would benefit us both, I believe,"

"Indeed it will. With the invisible poison in the air, I daresay that we would need your healing assistance more than ever. Ordinarily, we would offer gold for services rendered, but I doubt that fallen bricks and stone would answer to the gleam of coin. In an age where we cannot venture above ground, however? It seems that our expertise in underground construction may be more acceptable as an offering. Even that is an insult to your generosity, considering that you have consistently assisted us without accepting gold or favours in return for the last three years where nearly all wizards and witches refused. That is an act of commendable piety no less than that between a spawn and sire; between brother and sister; between a husband and his wife,"

The ancient goblin rose from his throne. He lifted the heavy golden crown from his head and placed it on the purple velvet cushion to the side before he solemnly walked down the throne, towards Amanda. A royal guard goblin rushed to his side, where he knelt and offered up his empty hands; into them, the goblin king deposited his silken gloves.

"I offer you an alliance and an offer to be your blood-brother, if you would accept, Lady Flynn," he spoke. "Gringotts will stand beside you then, through times of plenty and of poverty,"

Though she arched an eyebrow in what was likely feigned surprise, Amanda nodded slowly. "I accept your offer. I assume that there is some sort of ritual to follow?"

"Indeed there is. An exchange of blood from the hand, to signify the link; and of course, the signing of a formal treaty of alliance between the Kingdom of Gringotts and your...hm...settlement,"

Lucille muttered something about 'unsanitary' and 'unidentified pathogens' under her breath. Daphne had no idea why she would say it was unsanitary; after all, taking small samples of blood was quite routine for many wizards. Particularly those who preferred a more permanent binding ritual, or perhaps more security in protecting their goods. It wasn't even if the knives or needles used to collect the blood were dirty. They were kept as clean as humanly possible, after all.

Judging by Amanda's grimace, however, perhaps she held the same reservations. A long moment passed where Amanda's expression appeared to cycle through various shades of discomfort, much to the confusion of the goblins. Finally, after about a minute, she sighed and slumped her head down, blushing furiously in shame. "I would accept, King Ragnok, but it appears that my armour has gotten stuck from years of disuse. I think I will need some help to get out of this suit,"

The old goblin king blinked once before he burst into uproarious laughter. "By the Deep Ones, Dr. Flynn! You should know that a warrior takes good care of his or her own armour! Not to worry, we will assist you as best we can,"

And thus, the Phoenix Alliance took its first stumbling, clumsy steps into the world. It would be a good thing that nobody would remember it as the alliance which was created with Amanda Flynn being slowly pried out of a malfunctioning suit of powered infantry armour. Had that been the case, Daphne was certain that Amanda would never have lived her shame down.

* * *

A/N:

Moving to a new location with only a mobile internet connection and a weak laptop makes for a rather good writing environment. If only through a total lack of distractions .

Daphne, though despising her parents for their controlling nature, is still rather proud of her upbringing, and of pure-blood culture in particular. Contact with the Flynn triplets has softened her perspective of Muggles and Muggleborns somewhat over the first three years of Hogwarts, though that hasn't quite translated to her mother doing the same. Let's see how her conservatism does against the strongly disrupted world of post-nuclear Britain. After all, the only language that the Wasteland understands is blood - the spilled blood of one's enemies, and not someone's pedigree.

Macilnar: There will be minor alterations to the magical world, mainly to do with the relationships between the magical creatures and the pure-blooded humans. Conservatism runs much stronger in this universe, to reflect the fact that the Fallout universe is essentially set in a world frozen in the 1950s-1960s, which is probably second only to the 1930s for conservatism.

A heads-up; there will be a time-skip coming, as the forging of an empire is hardly exciting reading material.

Edit: Removed erroneous presence of Harry and Neville in this chapter. The two boys should not want to have their family jewels cooked by radiation! Well spotted, Macilnar.


	6. First Steps in a New World

January 1, 2078.

It was just over three months since the bombs fell. Background radiation remained lethal above ground, with little to no reduction in the levels till then. Even with the discovery that 'goblin silver' - a strange magical alloy that the goblins alone knew how to forge - was highly resistant to radiation, Amanda refused to authorise any of her daughters to go and explore the surface. After all, even when the suits of power armour were lead-lined on the inside and had a thin plating of goblin silver on the outermost layer of the ceramic composite armour plates, it was difficult to guarantee that the operator would remain completely unharmed.

And as a geneticist, she knew all too well the dangers of a small gene pool. Allowing radiation to sterilise any of the people under her care was not an option. Even now, she had to worry about potential inbreeding in a few generations' time. True, it was possible for her to hand-craft genomes to create new genetic material; after all, that was mostly how she had created her daughters. But that time she had the assistance of nearly one hundred other highly-trained scientists across England, along with thousands of computers and databanks all working in concert. The time when she had that kind of resources available was long gone.

No, creating new genomes was not an option. She glanced over to the tanks to the right of the main console in her cloning facility. The tiny vials of off-white fluid sitting in their injection ports were still mostly full. Given how little of it she had used to create her three daughters, she supposed that there was enough genetic material remaining to clone at least another five hundred of them. But that would simply aggravate the problem that she would have; the lack of genetic diversity to prevent all manner of problems later on.

Sighing exasperatedly, she cradled her head in her hands. There was no other solution to the extremely limited gene pool other than to seek out survivors and hope that they were still viable. And to do that, she needed to send somebody out to search for survivors in the tunnels beneath London. That somebody would likely be one or two of her daughters.

How much simpler that decision would have been fourteen years ago. Back then, she saw her daughters as little more than experimental results. X-1, X-2, X-3. Impersonal, clinical identifiers, without the least trace of humanity to cloud her judgement. Then her partner- _wife ,_ she reminded herself, after Ragnok married the two of them under the auspices of the Deep Ones - just had to go and name their children after they were remanded into her custody.

That made them unique. Different. And she could no longer see them as simply disposable samples any longer. If that were still the case, she would have no problems even sending them out to their deaths if it meant that she got the results she needed. She could always clone more, as long as she had enough genetic material available. However, seeing the way that Orianna allowed Tracey to snuggle up to her at dinnertimes; how Zoe whispered conspiratorially with Harry and Neville; or how Aveline treated injured goblins and humans beside Lucille - these observations only reinforced the fact that they were as human as she was.

Human, _Homo Sapiens._ Or were they meta-humans, crafted of a superior genetic base than other humans born by random chance? _Homo Sapiens Superior_? Whatever her daughters' true classification, she was certain of three things.

They were not machines. They were not disposable tools.

They were living, breathing humans, capable of independent thought and emotion.

And most of all, they were her genetic offspring. Her _children_.

Her thoughts then drifted to how she had been granted custody over them as a gift by Headquarters. A gift given in exchange for the plans and specifications of a gigantic vault designed to crank out tens of thousands of supersoldiers every month, from various other genetic bases. A facility of that scale would likely have the resources to create a truly astounding amount of people. Perhaps more than sufficient to repopulate the centre of London, given a few decades. Yet much to her frustration, Headquarters never saw fit to provide her with information about its whereabouts. Something about her 'already knowing too much' about it already.

The scientist's reflections were brought to a sudden halt by a burst of static from her wrist computer. "Mother. Requesting entry to the vault," she heard Orianna's calm and collected voice speak through her Pip-Boy. "Identification code epsilon-charlie-zero-one,"

"Access granted," she replied, tapping a few keys on the lab console in front of her. It had been so much easier to open and close the vault door once she had worked out how to grant overseer rights to this particular console.

The telltale clank and hiss of the vault doors opening told her of her daughter's return. Likely with another shipment of various mushrooms and metal wares from Gringotts, in exchange for water. A loud sigh escaped her lips as she recalled the other major problem that was plaguing the vault; that of an increasingly strained and overworked water purification system. Designed for only a staff of up to twelve people, the water purifier simply could not cope with the load required to produce water for nearly a hundred goblins and humans.

"Well, I should not keep the goblins waiting," said Amanda, standing up and sealing the lab behind her as she left.

* * *

June 14, 2078.

It had been nearly nine months since the bombs fell. Nine months of total radio silence, and of constantly sending out her daughters on search and rescue missions. Nine months of finding absolutely nothing but the horribly irradiated mutated humans that Zoe and Orianna had dubbed 'ghouls'. That, and the skeletal remains of civilians who had died of either hunger or thirst in the train tunnels beneath London. Neither were in short supply, considering that the routine Gringotts food caravans had to be escorted by no more than a dozen highly trained goblin warriors to ensure that they did not lose a single crate to the feral creatures, and Vault M-3's matter-recyclers were kept busy breaking down the bones and flesh of the dead.

Lucille had expressed quite a bit of worry regarding the mental state of their daughters. Orianna remained as quiet and stoic as she ever was, apparently taking the role of the strong eldest sister to heart. However, if Tracey's admissions to Lucille were true, Orianna had difficulty sleeping every night. The young Davis had claimed that Orianna tossed and turned constantly, seemingly wracked by guilt from killing hundreds of ghoulified humans over the past months. No matter how reassuring Lucille tried to be with her eldest daughter, she refused to answer with more than terse one-word answers, or with simple nods or shakes of her head.

Zoe was coping even less well than her eldest sister. When not out on a mission with Orianna, the once-boisterous Zoe seemed almost subdued as she moped about in the dining hall. Her eyes were dull, like many of those soldiers who had returned from the front lines of the Middle East. No longer did she try to prank others around her for fun. No, she spent what time she had inside the vault in the armoury, repeatedly cleaning the goblin silver axe that she wielded on her excursions. Even when the axe was gleaming and spotless, so polished that one could use it as a mirror, she would insist on polishing it again. And again. And again. All while muttering about how 'unclean' it was.

It was good, then, that at least her youngest daughter had no inclination for fighting at all. Rather, Aveline had expressed a rather keen interest in being a physician. Just like Lucille herself. Well, a 'healer' was the exact word that she had used, but the point still remained the same. And Lucille was happy enough to teach her little bits about treating injuries, letting her observe as she treated wounded goblins that came in after patrols on the so-called Gringotts-Surrey Highway. Her great strength often came in handy, especially when Nurse Handies were not available in Vault M-3's inventory. God only knows how Lucille would have lifted the injured onto the operating table without her daughter around.

Still, all things considered, Lucille thought that she should consider herself blessed. Even when those blessings were but small mercies in the face of the terrible reality that had fallen upon them all. Like how they had food in their bellies and water to cool their parched throats. Like how they had a vault to shield them from the radiation above ground. Like how they had beds to sleep on, no matter how rough they were. Like how they were _alive_ , and not skeletons like the thousands that they had found in the sewers and subways.

* * *

July 31, 2078.

Amanda felt a profound sense of shame and regret as she presented her three daughters with a single shared cupcake as their birthday cake. Yet with her latest calculations regarding the state of the world, that was as much as she could give. Their supplies, even when supplemented by Gringotts' subterranean farms, could only last another five years. Maybe six, with strict rationing. The goblins were expanding the hydroponics facilities in Vault M-3's sublevels, but even those could not possibly produce anything without more water.

The Davises had thankfully begun conducting research on how to generate clean water with magic. While it was possible for wizards and witches to conjure water from their wands, many had thought that they were simply transforming air into water. Which, as they had found by the end of the first month in the vault, had become unusable for drinking or bathing. The water that they could conjure was a sickly yellow-green colour, thoroughly tainted by radioactive compounds. It was true that they could simply pass it through the vault's water purifier, but Amanda was uncertain if it was even capable of withstanding so much use.

Even now, the water purification systems only held together by a prayer and liberal use of repairing charms. She had put the Davises in charge of maintaining them, and even they mentioned that some of the older rubber seals were crumbling beyond the ability of magic to repair. Something about radiation seemed to affect the efficiency of magical spells, it seemed.

* * *

December 25, 2081.

Four years.

Four years, two months and two days, if one wanted to be exact.

Four years of wandering up and down the ruins of London, searching for survivors and intact scraps of the old world. In sewers that reeked of decaying flesh, refuse and other unmentionable things that had been washed into it from the burned world above. Not that Orianna could point out anything _wrong_ with the smell any more. After all, she had gotten so used to terrible smells wafting off everyone's bodies after water had to be rationed to the point of only a three-minute shower for each person, twice a month. True, magic could be used to wash themselves; but after an incident where Zoe emerged from the showers looking like a huge wad of dense white bubbles that simply wouldn't pop for an entire day, it seemed that _Scourgify_ had never been intended to clean anything more than dishes or cutlery.

And so Orianna wondered why Tracey had asked her to wash up today. No - asked would have been the wrong word for it. _Insisted_ would have been closer to the mark. As she stepped into the shower and touched the little lump of soap that sat in its metal caddy, she raised an eyebrow when her fingers came away _wet._ Even before she had switched on the shower.

"Hm. I wonder who might have been showering," she mused as she turned the shower on. Zoe had taken hers earlier that week. Her mothers preferred to use the decontamination ones in the cloning laboratories, as did Aveline. And she was absolutely certain that Daphne had exhausted her allowance within the first week of the month.

That left only Tracey and her parents. And since she had seen both Mr. and Mrs. Davis in overalls down in the utilities section of the vault, that ruled them out.

So it had to be Tracey.

Her musings were cut short when the alarm above the showerhead beeped once. Hurriedly, she lathered herself with a bit of soap and scrubbed herself as best she could before the water would shut off automatically. A bit of lemon-scented shampoo took care of the grease and grime that stuck to her hair. Once she was clean - or as clean as was possible, given the meagre trickle that was the shower - Orianna stepped out and dried herself with a fluffy white towel, exhaling a deep sigh as she felt the chill of the vault start to seep back into her skin once again.

At least there were still _some_ nice things in the vault. Straightening herself up, Orianna looked into the floor-length mirror on the wall of the bathroom to give herself a once-over.

She had grown quite a bit taller over the past few years, to the point where she was nearly half a head taller than her genetic mother. And Amanda was by no means a short woman; she still towered over both Hermione and Mrs. Davis. Her hair, the colour of burnished copper, was once kept in a shoulder length ponytail before the bombs fell. It now tumbled in loose sheets down to her mid-back, framing her fair heart-shaped face. Perhaps due to her genetics - or her daily hikes that took her all over London on foot - or both, her body was lean and lithe. Fit to take on a shambling zombie, with or without armour, with blade, gun, fist or magic.

"Hmph. Appearances. What a foolish concept," snorted Orianna, turning away from the mirror. A wave of her wand had her hair instantly dried it with a blast of hot air, and another wave brushed it down straight before rolling itself up into a loose, messy bun. Practical and efficient. Just as she liked it.

Clad in a puffskein-wool robe that seemed to be the only article of clothing that Gringotts could produce - aside from the garishly impractical cloth-of-gold ones that King Ragnok VII wore - Orianna made her way back to her room on the second floor of the vault. What she saw - and smelled - once she threw open the door, however, was _definitely not_ what she had been expecting at all.

The pleasant smell of vanilla and jasmine filled the air inside. Her room, once a huge mess of scattered weapons, armour parts and half-eaten boxes of rations, had been cleaned up during the day. Her rifles and pistols were neatly secured to the weapon rack on the wall; her goblin silver sabre hanging from its provided hook to their side, its edge shined to a mirror finish. Gone were the unfinished rations and wrappers, replaced by liberal amounts of white flower petals. Flower petals that covered most of the floor - and trailed all the way across the room, and up her bed. A bed that had seemingly been magically enlarged to almost thrice its original size.

And on the middle of her bed, in the middle of a halo of petals, Tracey reclined, smiling coyly. A hand outstretched, beckoning for her to come.

She was wearing-

Orianna's mind ground to a halt as she felt an intense heat rush to her cheeks - and elsewhere that she didn't even want to think about. What on _earth_ was that brunette girl wearing? Her breasts threatened to spill out of the ridiculously small bra that was on her, and she could hardly count that black string-and-lace contraption that covered her nethers as underwear.

"Come on, Ori," she purred.

What happened next seemed an indistinct blur to Orianna. She recalled being led to her bed by Tracey. Her robes were somewhere, she knew not where, and her boots had been discarded into some remote corner of the room. Likely under her bed, but that did not matter at that moment. Not with herself lying face-down on the bed, Tracey straddling her waist on her back, a bottle of clear scented liquid in hand. She could feel the heat of Tracey's skin on hers. How smooth it was. How supple it was.

Her daze was only barely lifted when she felt the touch of a cool, slippery liquid trickle onto her back.

"Tracey. Would you care to explain what this is about?" she murmured, trying her hardest not to sigh in pleasure as she felt the half-blood witch's fingers kneading her back.

"Shh. Just be quiet and enjoy it for a bit. I'll tell you later. Promise,"

"We-e-ell-ooh, that felt wonderful," she groaned, feeling a thumb gently ease a knot in her back.

"Shh. Just enjoy it,"

And enjoy it Orianna did. Countless days of training with goblins, marching from place to place and salvaging from ruins had taken its toll on her body. While Lucille was certainly a most competent physician, she simply didn't have the training to treat her aching muscles. For that, one needed to see a physio-physiologist? She wasn't entirely sure of the name, as the men and women at Alexander Barracks often just called them masseurs and masseuses. Yet somehow, Tracey was manipulating her with as much skill as the supposed experts did. The knots in her back, her shoulders - and even the stubborn ones in her arms and legs - had all mostly vanished in short order. Where did she learn how to do this so effectively?

"Thanks, Ori. Good to know that I'm doing okay with this," giggled Tracey.

"I said that out loud, didn't I?"

"Yep! You definitely did,"

"Well, I suppose the cat is out of the bag on that one. You are doing...very well, Tracey. Could I ask where you learned to do this? I do not think that wizarding families would teach their daughters to...well, massage another witch,"

The thumbs working her neck stopped moving. Orianna heard an exaggerated humming from the witch straddling her back before they resumed their motions. "How much _do_ you want to know, Ori?"

"Everything?"

"Oh my, you're a bit forward, aren't you. That's a bit much to ask," she heard her say playfully. She could almost _hear_ the grin on the brunette minx's face. "Well, I'll just say that your mum - Lucille, I mean - gave me a book. A really, _really_ useful book. A lot of fun to read, too,"

"Do I really want to know what sort of book my mum gave you? I hardly think you would be one to call a textbook or manual a 'fun' read,"

"But you do want to know, Ori. You're already asking~" she chanted in a sing-song voice. "After all, Lucille already told me that your other mum _really_ appreciated what she learned from this book. Especially what she could do for her...on a bed,"

"I really, _really_ don't want to know about how my mothers met each other, Tracey. Or what they get up to in...nocturnal activities,"

To her surprise, Tracey simply burst into giggles - and then full blown laughter. She felt the soft and warm orbs of her- _God damn it, Orianna, get your mind out of the gutter!-_ her _friend's_ breasts pressing against her back, just behind her shoulders. It didn't help her that Tracey was shivering in fits of laughter as well, making her efforts to ignore the sensation _much_ more difficult.

"Maybe you don't want to know about what they get up to. Say, Ori, could you turn over? I'd like to get your front as well,"

Deciding that perhaps it would be much less awkward if she were able to speak to Tracey face-to-face, Orianna obliged her by shifting so that she were lying flat on her back. Tracey resumed her ministrations, gently rubbing down every part of the redhead that was still tense and stiff. "Alright, all done!" she chirped, sealing the bottle of liquid with a loud click.

"Thank you, Tracey. But I would like to know what is the occasion," murmured Orianna, nodding appreciatively for what her friend had done for her.

"It's Yule. And I haven't gotten you anything for it. Soooo...I thought this might make a fine gift," replied Tracey. She shifted off Orianna's stomach and plopped down onto the side of the bed, allowing her to sit up. There was a strange look in Tracey's eyes that the eldest Flynn sister could not quite place. "I mean, you're going to be leaving for...what's that place called? Kew?"

Orianna nodded slowly. "That would be correct. I have scouted the pumphouse there on mother's orders. The radiation levels are surprisingly low there. With a bit of effort, the goblins and my mother believe that it would be possible to construct a settlement underground,"

She raised an eyebrow when she felt an arm snake around her own left arm. Tracey was clinging off her arm, resting her head on her shoulder. "So it's true. You're leaving us?" she murmured.

"Not forever. Mother mentioned that I should only be needed there for six months while we restore the pumphouse and fit it with your parents' Purging Pillars,"

"That's six months too long,"

Orianna blinked. "I'm sorry, what?" she blurted out. She didn't quite understand the issue; Kew, after all, was only an eight-hour walk from Vault M-3, and only a slight detour from the goblins' caravan route that existed between the Vault and Gringotts.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, you can be soooo clueless sometimes, Ori," sighed Tracey. She stood up from the bed and put a finger under her chin, a crooked smirk growing on her lips. "How can I put this...oh, I know,"

Nothing could have prepared her for the brunette tackling her into the bed. Or for the sensation of soft, warm lips upon her own, a slick, deft tongue trying to snake its way into her mouth. A gentle suck, a tiny nibble, and a sensuous lick - and she found herself unable to protest the brunette's actions. Not did she remotely want to, enjoying the inviting taste of strawberries that lingered from where Tracey had kissed her.

"Wow. Am I good, or am I good?" snickered the shorter girl, who pulled away breathless. "Do you get it now, Ori?"

Orianna, stunned, slowly lifted a hand to touch her lips where Tracey had kissed her. Her fingers came away with a smear of reddish-orange. The other girl's intent was rather clear, though her reasons were not. "Tracey," she murmured, looking at the brunette curiously. "I...why? Why me? Surely Zoe would be a better ma-"

"Don't you even _think_ of finishing that, Orianna Flynn," Tracey said sharply. She fixed Orianna with a piercing gaze that Daphne often used. One that she thought the affable brunette was incapable of. Still, her gaze softened as she continued, tracing a finger along Orianna's jawline. "Merlin, you're so dense about this. You still don't get it, do you? I. Want. You. And not one of your sisters. If you really want a reason, how about this one? Who kicked Malfoy in the family jewels whenever he threatened me?"

"He always insulted me at the same time. That does not count," countered Orianna. "You may have one parent of pure magical lineage, Tracey, but neither of mine are. His insults were always more directed at myself, not you,"

"Fine. How about every morning at Hogwarts? Who drags us out, rain, hail or shine, to make us run and exercise, so we wouldn't be soft and weak?"

"That...yes, that would be myself. But I do recall you cursing my name every session,"

"Details, details. I might have been a _little_ sleepy. And a _little_ cranky for being woken up before the sun was even up. But it still got me to be a lot healthier, you know? It feels good to be able to poke fun at Millie or Pansy and then get away with it because they can't run very far or very fast. But...if you really still aren't convinced...how about that time, at the end of third year? When Nott finally realised he could get his willy up and how he felt the need to-"

"You do not need to remind me of that particular incident. I remember it...all too well," growled Orianna, clenching her fists.

She had beaten Nott nearly to a pulp that one evening in June, to the point where the boy was pleading for someone to just kill him to put him out of misery.

That evening, after returning from the Hogwarts kitchens for a drink of orange juice, she heard a commotion coming from the direction of one of the disused classrooms on the ground floor. Two figures were inside the darkened classroom, seemingly locked in a struggle. One of them - the smaller figure - was whimpering while bent over a table, while the taller and larger one seemed to be pinning it down with quite a lot of effort. When she cast a quick _Lumos_ , however, caused her to fly into a rage.

There, bent over one of the tables, was Tracey. Her robes were torn, and so was the shirt she wore underneath. Her skirt lay on the ground, crumpled and soiled by shoes and boots in an evidence of a long and hard struggle. Theodore Nott, the infamous son of a suspected Death Eater, was the one pinning her down against the table. The fact that his robes were askew and his trousers were down were evidence enough of what he was attempting to do.

Orianna saw red at that moment. She knew not why she had lost control of her temper, considering that she had been taught to remain calm in all situations in the Flynn sisters' annual training camp, but that night she did. One moment, Nott was staring in astonishment as she let loose an almost inhuman scream of rage - and the next, he had been punched so hard into the wall on the opposite side of the classroom that the stonework actually cracked. And even after that, she launched herself at him to rain down blows on the boy.

Left. Right. Left. Right. A kick to the gut. A stomp on his groin.

And a knee to his jaw, just for good measure.

It was only after Professor Sprout came to investigate the source of the commotion that she had been finally restrained. By chains of steel from an overpowered _Incarcerous_ by the shocked Head of Hufflepuff, no less. At that point, Nott's face had been beaten to an almost unrecognisable mess; though the same could be said of his body, given the way that his legs and arms were all bending the wrong way. The Python of Slytherin had done her work so thoroughly that by mid-afternoon the following day, all of Hogwarts knew that Nott looked more like an Egyptian mummy than a human being.

And supposedly a Mudblood had been the one to do it.

"You didn't have to risk yourself, but you did. You nearly got expelled for me, and who knows what Nott would have done if he actually cast a spell," Tracey murmured, nuzzling into the crook of Orianna's neck. "Truth is, Ori, you've always looked out for me. From the day you joined Slytherin until...well...now, I guess. Damn it, Tracey - you're messing this up. Get it together, girl!"

Orianna suppressed a snort, but continued listening regardless. "I mean, what I was trying to say is...well...I like you, Ori. You've always stood by me when nobody else would stand up for a 'filthy half-blood'. I want to...well...I want to know you as more than just a friend. Orianna Flynn, would you be my girlfriend?"

The redhead's jaw dropped. She opened and closed her mouth, but no words came. So shocked was she by the sudden proposition, that all her thoughts were muddled into one unrecognisable mess. The only things that she recognised at that very moment was the fact that her cheeks were probably burning a bright scarlet; that there was a rather uncomfortable heat building up in her nethers; and that there was a rather affectionate and touchy brunette clinging to her side. One that had more or less bared her own feelings towards her.

"Yes," she managed to choke out after what felt like an eternity. Who was she to deny the affections of another? Especially one who she had known for seven years now. Vivid green eyes locked with misty grey ones, exchanging unspoken promises as they intertwined their fingers.

Tracey giggled happily and snuggled closer to Orianna, wrapping her arms around the taller girl before planting a kiss on her lips. One that Orianna reciprocated, albeit very clumsily. "Ooh, we'll have to work on that, I think," Tracey remarked playfully. "Thankfully, we have all night. You're up for it, aren't you?"

Somehow, Orianna had a feeling that no matter how she answered, she would not get a wink of sleep.

* * *

A/N:

Timeskip chapter is done. It seems that no matter how 'prepared for the future' one can be, there is no escaping the 'future imperfect'. 'Ain't that a kick in the head?'

...Okay, I'll stop it with the Fallout questnames.

So the vault's resources are overtaxed. Harsh rationing is in place, and mental trauma is creeping in for those that are suddenly thrown into a virtually dead world. Yet even in all this, there can be little bits of light that shine through and make living that much more bearable.

Next up: The waters of life. Who needs a GECK anyway, when you have magic?


	7. 07 - Prepared for the Future

Six months.

It had been six months since Orianna had been first posted at the pumphouse at Kew. The purification runes that the Davises had invented had worked less well than expected.

The stone rings that the Davises carved with runes did remove radioactive particles from the water, along with any impurities that remained behind. What water came through the pumphouse's pipes past the purification circuits did come through sparkling clean and refreshingly cold. In that sense, they worked as designed, lifting the water restrictions in both the Vault and Gringotts after the pipelines were installed. The hydroponics facilities under the Vault, once dormant, could finally be activated. Yes, even if the water came through as but a trickle compared to what it was before the war.

Naturally, that also meant that the food and water problems that had plagued the fledgling alliance had also lessened, if only a little.

One might ask, then, why it could be considered only less well than expected. No, the main problem was that they didn't _vanish_ the radiation. They simply _absorbed_ it. The stone rings would become so heavily irradiated that after every week they needed to be replaced. The rings themselves had discarded as far away as they possibly could once they started glowing a sickly green; a task that would have been nearly impossible to do safely, had they not any power armour.

Soft knocking on the door of the Overseer's Office stirred Amanda up from her musings. "Ma cherie, ze goblins 'ave finished repairing ze Floo connection to ze French Ministry," Lucille called from outside. "'E requests that you be present to receive more survivors of ze Great War,"

"I shall be there. Give me a minute," sighed Amanda, closing her research logs.

The atrium of the Vault had been remodelled somewhat by the goblins. The metal catwalks leading to the gear-shaped vault door had been replaced by solid stone walkways, and the walls reinforced by more masonry. A large pipe, larger than she could wrap her arms around, went through the wall on the right side; the telltale swirling noises of running clean water was certainly reassuring to her ears.

However, the largest modification of all was the large basin-shaped depression in the centre of the atrium. The fact that a completely inadequate fireplace in the Vault had been the cause of dozens of goblin deaths through their inability to get aid quickly enough to Gringotts had left a bitter taste in the goblin king's mouth; and one that was rectified in typical ostentatious goblin style. The entire basin was made of gold-plated steel. Glowing runes and decorative engravings coated every square inch of its surface, which was lit with a magical blue fire at all times of the day.

Normally, there would be a constant stream of goblins coming in and out of the fireplace, bringing goods to and from the Vault. Today, however, there was a honour guard – and Ragnok himself.

"Amanda!" the old goblin boomed, his face breaking into a toothy smile. With a speed that defied his age and short stature, he sped towards Amanda and brought her into a friendly – if awkward – embrace. After all, the taller redhead had to half-kneel to let him do so. "May your coffers never run dry, bond-sister. I trust that your wife has informed you of what is happening today?"

"I doubt that I could be ignorant of the survival of members of the French ministry, Ragnok. It is always great to hear that there are others still alive in this world," replied the scientist, who let go of the goblin king. "Are the extra rooms prepared? How many survivors were we expecting, again?"

"Monsieur Delacour 'as said that zere were at least thirty with 'im, including his family," Lucille spoke.

Thirty. Hearing that number again filled her heart with equal parts relief and despair. The genetic situation of the future – while still less than ideal – would be at least more secure. However, the future itself would be certainly in doubt if they did not find some way of relieving the pressure on their supplies.

If only there was some way to preserve everyone without draining their already limited resources.

* * *

October 22, 2082.

Amanda cradled her head in frustration after yet another day of thinking up of a possible solution to their problems.

Their population was far too low to be sustained without the input of additional survivors. Genetic inbreeding, even with the addition of the thirty French survivors and cross-breeding with the more numerous goblins of Gringotts, would guarantee their probable sterility and ultimate extinction within several generations. And adding additional survivors to their already-strained life support systems would stretch it to breaking point.

What she needed most, above all, was time. Radiation needed time to dissipate. Time would allow her to create new genomes from selective recombination, ready to be created in the cloning tanks when reconstruction efforts could be finished. She needed time to gather and compile information from the magic users, so that they could create instructional manuals for their magical offspring; so that once they passed on, their knowledge would not be lost.

She needed more time. No – _they_ needed more time.

As she fingered the blood-red stone on her desk, she grimaced at the unpleasant thought of one possible option. The French ministry's archive contained many interesting articles. Including one of temporal suspension – or stasis, as she preferred to think of it – allowing those held inside a suspension field to be kept alive indefinitely. She herself had an imperfect Philosopher's Stone, which would create enough Elixir for just one person, thereby removing the need for herself to be kept in stasis.

Without the others draining the life support systems, the Vault could support her for decades. Centuries, perhaps. At the very least, it would be enough for her to wait the radiation out – and then release those in stasis when the time was right.

Yes. That could work. Placing everyone in stasis, while she worked on a solution. The Mister Handies had many spare parts remaining, and with little use of the Vault's systems, its maintenance requirements would be greatly diminished. She would be able to find a better solution in time, but this, unappealing as it was, was their only option for the survival of humanity.

* * *

December 31, 2082.

The calculations and measurements had been made, checked and double-checked, for at least the seventh time that month. The radiation outside was lethal to all that ventured above ground, except for maybe a few of those zombie-like ghouls that lurked in the sewers. And it would remain so for the next two hundred years or so.

Gringotts had excavated a vault beneath Vault M-3, and had painstakingly moved the contents of all the gold in their Paris branch into it. The storage rooms above were filled to the brim with crates upon crates of preserved vegetables and piles upon piles of clothing. Enchanted items of all kinds were placed in a sealed and warded chamber beside it, allowing only Amanda and King Ragnok to enter it at will.

Now, standing inside a massive concrete-lined room that had been newly excavated behind the cloning labs, Amanda surveyed the last steps of her preparations for the future. Dozens upon dozens of silver pods, each engraved with countless runes, were arrayed as far as one could see. Men and women, goblins and veela, French and English alike, were entering them after embracing one another in anticipation for what they were about to enter in the next half hour.

They were about to enter the Long Sleep. One that would hopefully see them through to an age where they could live without hunger, thirst or the fear of radiation.

"Bond-sister. Gringotts has been sealed with the most lethal security wards activated. There should be nothing that could possibly penetrate it now," spoke King Ragnok as he walked up to her side. His expression was unreadable. "The last goblins are making their way out of the bank now, with the vault keys in their possession,"

"Very good. If everything is secured, then we may begin,"

The two of them stood silently for a few moments. Here and there, Mister Handy units wandered up and down the aisles of stasis pods, helping to close those that were stubbornly refusing to close. "Do you believe that this will work?" asked the goblin king quietly. The unspoken question of 'will this really work?' hung thickly in the air. It rankled the goblins to leave their bank and vaults unattended for any length of time, let alone decades. Yes, even with all the entrail-expelling, incineration, disintegration and obliteration wards in place over every vault, doorway and minecart, the goblins still felt insecure about their security without any goblins present in the bank.

"Truthfully, I only know as much as you do, Ragnok. Perhaps even less, given my relative newness to the field of magic," Amanda answered, "What I do know is that given the sheer amount of nuclear weapons used during the brief exchange, it will take decades before we would be able to walk upon the surface again. Hundreds of years, perhaps. With so few people present, we would breed ourselves into extinction within several generations. Inbreeding is truly a terrible curse, as I am sure you would have seen from those so-called purebred wizards,"

Ragnok gave a snort. "Purebloods," he corrected her, "But yes, they have certainly proven that to be the case with how many of them could no longer reproduce. After all, we at Gringotts would not have so much gold in our possession if the wizards had not bred their houses to death. Very well, I see that stasis until it is safe to emerge and search for survivors is likely our best option. But I do wonder..."

Ragnok tapped the side of a stasis pod. "We who would enter the pods wouldn't see the passage of time. It would look mostly as though only a fraction of a second had passed between the stasis field being activated and deactivated. You, however, would be subjected to the full passage of time. I know for a fact that insolvent debtors kept in isolation by Gringotts become mad within a few short months. You have made assurances that you would be capable of maintaining your sanity in solitude, but I beg your pardon if I find myself somewhat...unsure of your claim,"

Amanda said nothing, but looked over the occupants of the vault before her. Only a few stragglers were still outside, searching for their assigned pods. "If I were to say that I was certain, I would be lying to myself and to you," replied the scientist. "But the die is cast. There is no other option to secure the future,"

Truthfully, the enormity of the task before her terrified her. To spend decades in solitude, without anyone to talk to except for the frankly guileless artificial intelligence of the sentry bots and Mister Handies. It was far easier to contemplate the idea at the start. Now, as Lucille, her triplets and their friends stepped into the last sets of pods closest to the entry; as Lucille gave her one final wave before settling into the padded seat of her pod; as Tracey gave a stony-faced Orianna a kiss on her cheek; the full ramifications of her decision finally hit home.

"The die is cast indeed," muttered Amanda under her breath.

* * *

 _December 31, 2092._

 _Ten years._

 _It's been ten whole years._

 _The first six months had been the worst. To sleep in a cold, empty bed, bereft of your touch. To eat in an empty mess hall, with only a single Mister Handy to serve pre-packed foods to be warmed by microwave. To take showers in silence, with only the steady dripping of water to keep myself company. To wander about the Vault, with only work on my mind and not a single other soul to speak to._

 _To live alone by choice, knowing that companionship is but a button-press away, but would consign the other person to a long, slow death as they age while I do not. I tested a spare pod with a mutated mouse that a Mister Handy had captured, to see if the stasis runes would hold a deactivation sequence. Alas, it appears that it will not; so the pods can only be deactivated once, and that would be it. There is simply not enough power to engage the enchantment again, it seems._

 _I comforted myself in knowing that what I do is for the good of those in my care. The wants of one must give way to the needs of many, after all._

 _The radiation in the world above ground has decayed somewhat, but that has not reduced the grim reality of what lies above. The black, radioactive soot-laden rain stopped long before you have entered your pod, but the damage appears to have been permanent. There is no grass, there are no trees. The Thames runs clear enough to see the garbage in the riverbed beneath, yet there are absolutely no fish at all in it. No evidence of algal life at all._

 _I suppose that would be just one more project that would tide me over until the day that I can release you, love._

* * *

 _October 31, 2132._

 _Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me. Happy birthday, you ancient dinosaur you. Happy birthday to me._

 _A very happy birthday indeed, with a carrot cake, no icing, and a single candle made out of a scrap of fuse. What a wonderful life this is, to have a birthday without you or our daughters._

 _A centenarian I am now, my love. Even if I don't look like it. Last I've looked in the mirror, I still look the same as I did when I was twenty. Minus a crooked nose that won't go away after the Mister Handy that I was servicing decided to drop its maintenance hatch, and an index finger that can't bend properly after an accident with a blunt scalpel in the labs._

 _One of the Mister Handies found a biogel processor the other week. Mothballed in a wooden crate. It had never been unpacked, and it's been sitting there for years without my knowledge! Now I know what I can do with all the food that I can't eat on my own that's coming from the hydroponics facilities below._

 _With all that biogel—why, I could continue my research in earnest! Lord knows there's very little to occupy my time with, these days. All the theoretical work that I have set aside is done, and it is so mind-numbingly boring to simply sit around, tending to plants. Yes, even the magical plants have gotten rather tedious to tend to after the thousandth time around. Even so, I did discover a use for the concentrated essence of dittany and venomous tentacula sap. These two combined, mixed with biogel, ethyl alcohol and dried, powdered bubotuber pus and an emulsifier in the form of tragacanth gum, makes for a sprayable healing solution. The addition of freeze-dried and powdered fire seeds to this spray causes it to flash-harden on whatever it is sprayed on, forming an insoluble and waterproof antibacterial film. One that also encourages rapid regrowth of any damaged or missing cells, much like a stimulant package on Buffout._

 _A truly useful item to take on expeditions above ground when the time comes to explore the world once the radiation becomes tolerable again._

 _Let us see what else I can discover in the next few decades, shall we? I doubt that I will run out of things to do. Not when I have access to a biogel processor and a surplus of organic matter, at any rate._

* * *

 _July 31, 2232._

 _Two hundred years old now._

 _If I was a dinosaur before, I'm now certainly a fossil. Yes, even if I do not look like it._

 _Allan – the Mister Handy that runs around collecting things from basements and sewers outside – was gravely injured on returning. The surveillance cameras scattered around London have given out many years ago, and thus I could not find out who did this atrocity. How could they? Allan is the sweetest, most peace-loving and helpful machine that has ever existed!_

 _Well, after lab assistant Sorcha, of course. That Nurse Handy certainly knows her way around experiments. It took quite a bit of instruction from myself, but it is certainly worth it. Love, if you read this message, remind me to introduce you to her. You'd get along with her, I promise you._

 _Still, I suppose I've digressed enough. The injuries on Allan's shell weren't caused by mutated rats, cats, dogs, sheep or cattle. Or even the hands of those horrible, horrible ghouls. They were caused by high-calibre weaponry. It seems that some humans have somehow survived above ground, or that others have built vaults before the war and have emerged. Which boggles the mind, as the soil samples collected by Allan indicate a level of radioactivity at least six times higher than would be considered safe for gamete integrity._

 _Without the cameras above ground, however, I must assume that whoever or whatever remains of the old world are hostile. A shame that Allan's degrading optical sensors couldn't pick up even a glimpse of his attackers. Future expeditions will have to be accompanied by Brutus, the sentry bot that guards the main hallway. Lord knows how bored he must be, just trundling up and down aimlessly. I will have to make sure his plasma blasters and armored shell are at peak performance._

* * *

 _June 1, 2247._

 _The culmination of nearly a hundred and fifty years of research with genetic material collected from everyone in Vault M-3 are now incubating nicely in the cloning tanks. I wish I could say it was entirely out of scientific curiosity, but isolation has gotten the better of me. Speaking to Allan, Sorcha, Brutus and the others through direct neural-code interface is well and good, but I yearn for some human interaction._

 _Every time I pass your pod, love, it shreds my heart. Knowing that you are there, in my sight yet out of reach. Knowing that I can speak, and you cannot hear. Knowing that you will never understand just how painful it is for myself to be subjected to decades upon decades of this torture. The greater good is a painful thing indeed, is it not?_

 _Regardless, it seems that we will have to welcome four new children into our lives. Two boys and two girls._

 _Mister Potter's genetic material appears to contain a novel sequence which allows for rapid repair of damaged tissue, while readings of Lady Greengrass' magical reserves indicates tremendous magical flow potential. Taking the already-created genetic samples from Orianna and merging in the two samples taken from Mister Harry James Potter and Lady Daphne Isabelle Greengrass, I was mildly surprised to see that Mister Potter's sample somehow consumed the other two and formed it into something new, on its own accord. Magic is perhaps at work, but I would certainly still like to know how this has happened. This particular embryo I have decided to label PX-47, a chimera of three distinct lineages, and is a female._

 _The second is that of Mister Neville Francis Longbottom and Miss Katherine Maxine de Vermandois. The lad shows incredible magical reserves, though his timid demeanour does obscure it at times. Miss de Vermandois, of the French delegation, has exhibited magical talent in various magical arts. Again, the genetic material of this embryo was created by fusing Orianna's genetic samples to theirs. No complications were observed in the genetic recombination phase. This embryo is labelled VX-46, a chimaera of three distinct lineages, and is male. Standard recombination with viral vectors was used._

 _Third is that of Mister Longbottom and Miss Tracey Linda Davis. The lass has exhibited a very quick wit and quick responses in her time inside the vault. Scans indicate that this is due to a central nervous system anomaly in Miss Davis, which lets her respond in record time to any stimulus. It is projected that DL-48, a male, would exhibit superior reflexes useful in a bodyguard for those venturing above ground. DL-48 was created with standard viral recombination, with Zoe's material as a base._

 _I must admit that the fourth was a product of more than mere curiosity. The presence of mixed-breed humans isn't an impossibility; our daughters have relayed many praises of one Filius Flitwick, and there are at least six goblin-human infants in the pods at this very moment, courtesy of a few French. Miss Fleur Marianne Delacour's veela background has proven to be incredibly potent when it comes to attracting others. I will admit it now, love, that I felt an almost irresistible compulsion to kiss her and ravish her when she flashed that most charming smile at everyone in the mess hall on her birthday. Whatever the case, I would imagine that we will need a diplomat when our community grows, to handle the concerns of its people._

 _Lord knows that I am unfit to be a leader to so many people. I am a scientist at heart, concerned with uncovering truths of the universe, not a politician that spreads lies and empty platitudes!_

 _There was a notable deviation from accepted rules of genetic inheritance when it came to this specimen, however. In the creation of DL-48, VX-46 and PX-47, candidate gender distributions were as expected, being slightly skewed to males over females. FL-49, however, has a gender distribution of one hundred percent female in all surviving candidate embryos. Attempts to introduce the Y-chromosome from various males, both goblin and human, have resulted in an embryo that perished quickly in something that resembled a self-destructive autoimmune response. Something that should not have been possible at that stage of development, considering that leukocytes have yet to develop._

 _Another quirk is that the genetic binding appears to be improperly formed until the introduction of a small volume of Elixir. What the effects of this will be in the long run, I do not know; the Elixir itself, to this point, still eludes my understanding._

 _Regardless, FL-49, which has a recorded ancestry of Mister Potter and Miss Delacour, on a base of Aveline's genetic material, is the one selected for maturity in this batch. It is projected that the result should be very similar to Miss Delacour, if the uncanny familial resemblance that runs in the female Delacour line breeds true._

 _All other embryos and combinations are in cold storage with attached notes in the mainframe's central storage. It is worth mentioning that the only ones in storage are viable embryos, and that those that have been deemed unviable have been disposed of in the biogel processor._

* * *

 _March 15, 2248._

 _VX-46, PX-47, DL-48 and FL-49 have all been born without complications. The lightest of them, FL-49, weighed in at eighteen pounds. The heaviest, DL-48, weighs an astounding thirty-nine pounds. Even Orianna did not weigh as much at birth, and she was the heaviest of our own._

 _Phase one is complete. Phase two – the their upbringing – begins now. The task before me seems insurmountable. I will admit that I have longed for human company, but as memories of raising Orianna, Zoe and Aveline return, I find myself completely befuddled by what I need to do._

 _Lucille, I owe you a great deal more than I had thought at first. Changing diapers of children is something that I find myself seemingly unable to do. DL-48 has decided to void his bowels at this very moment. Thankfully, Sorcha has come to my rescue. I would not know what to do without her._

* * *

 _July 22, 2257._

 _DL-48 has just had his first outburst of accidental magic. Dylan and his brother, Victor, have been arguing between themselves over a ration package that they had found lying around. In a fit of anger, he pulled the pack out of his brother's hands from a distance of twenty feet – and straight into his face._

 _The self-heating pack inside exploded on impact, and now the child has third-degree burns over left half of his face. Sorcha is uncertain if the child will ever regain the use of his left eye, considering the damage. What is certain, however, is that I doubt relations between the two will remain the same. They had never gotten along to begin with, even from when they were toddlers; thrown wooden cubes, hair-pulling, name-calling and flicking food at each other at mealtimes. Now, I am forced to put the two on opposite wings of the Vault, just so that they would not have to run into each other._

 _Their strength grows every day. Brutus, the sentry bot that he is, tries to keep peace as best he can. But even his servomotors have limits, and I fear the day that he becomes unable to break up a fight between the two, should that day come._

 _PX-47, or Pixie as she prefers to be called, has grown up to be quite a studious young lady. Her mind is much like a sponge; whatever books that she lays her hands on, the information within is sure to be absorbed. Much like Lady Greengrass, she is quite standoffish, and prefers to answer with laconic single-word answers when possible. Still, whenever she does engage in a discussion with myself, it is clear that she possesses a disturbingly astute, analytic and logical mind. If I did not know better, I would have thought that she was a synthetic being of circuitry, and not of flesh and blood!_

 _Flora – FL-49 – is quite the opposite. Warm and sunny in disposition, she reminds me much of Aveline. Perhaps it is the veela heritage in her that also grants her an almost ethereal grace, despite her great mass. For whatever reason, however, she seems to suffer from terrible nightmares. Night after night, from three years of age until the present, she weeps in her sleep, tossing and turning and occasionally crying out for comfort. To this day, she sleeps with myself, just so that I can respond quickly whenever these nightmares grow to an unbearable intensity._

 _On another note, the radiation above ground seems to have largely cleaned itself up. The last soil and water samples from above have little radioactivity remaining. The Thames, while still radioactive enough to cause someone to fall ill if drunk from, is an order of magnitude cleaner than it was a century ago. I still doubt that much of the city is cleansed, though I will admit that this does bode well for my centuries-long isolation._

 _I shall continue monitoring the samples that Allan brings in. When I deem that the radioactivity has dropped enough for us to begin colonising the surface once more,I shall awaken everyone in the pods._

 _It feels like it's been decades since I've last smiled. But maybe that is because it is true. Soon, my love, I will be with you again._

* * *

A/N:

-Grabs muse with grappling hook- GET OVER HERE~

Been quite some time since I last updated this story. Been busy developing software on weekends, which leaves very little time to write.


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